


Wanna Feel the Heat With Somebody

by 2bestfriends



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (they appear at the end of part 2), Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Communication before sex, Dating, FWB Steve/Thor, Family Drama, First Date, First Time, Friends With Benefits, Hand Jobs, Holidays, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mild Sexual Mishaps, Minor Steve Rogers/Thor, Misunderstandings, Office Romance, Omega Bucky Barnes, Other: See Story Notes, Pining, Relationship Negotiation, Rimming, Scent Marking, Scenting, Unsolicited Scenting, all the action is "off screen"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:28:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 72,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21892909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2bestfriends/pseuds/2bestfriends
Summary: Bucky hasn't exactly been a risk-taker in his life, but when you're not only the baby of the family but also the only Omega, risks aren't encouraged, either. So it comes as a shock to himself and his three older, overbearing sisters when he suddenly quits his shitty but reliable job of five years to accept the unsolicited offer from Stark & Rogers. He can't help hoping this will be his chance to find his own way, for once.Too bad a certain cofounder's scent has him trailing behind the tall, gorgeous Alpha like a lovesick idiot.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 259
Kudos: 1967





	1. Part 1: Bucky (i've done alright up til now)

Bucky has gotten the impression that Stark & Rogers are pretty desperate to hire a new office manager. 

For the first time in his life, Bucky got poached. An unsolicited message on LinkedIn, an offer for an interview within 12 hours of his reply, and, once he made the impulsive decision to actually _attend_ the interview, a very frank conversation about how his current job is underpaying him. Ms. Romanoff, the talent acquisition specialist at Stark & Rogers, is offering him a 10% raise on what he makes now. When Bucky hesitates and informs her he's very interested but needs to give two weeks notice, she looks him dead in the eye and says, "How about another $500 a week and a starting bonus if you can start on Monday?"

So, Bucky quits. 

He _does_ do a ton of research on Stark & Rogers in the 12 hours he requests to think it over, reading endless reviews on GlassDoor because he’s sure that this has to be too good to be true. Ultimately, though, if they want to pay him really well to jump ship, he doesn't feel a lot of loyalty for his current employers, who over the last five years only gave him one reluctant raise that he desperately had to fight for despite his glowing performance reviews. 

On Friday, he walks out of that job forever and then spends an entire weekend hyperventilating, convinced this new job won't even exist on Monday, and then when Monday rolls around, he arrives at Stark & Rogers bright and early. 

Ms. Romanoff—Natasha—meets him promptly, though, and shows him to his new desk, which is a giant U-shaped thing, right smack in the middle of a huge open concept office space. 

Bucky's never worked in an open office before. It's still early, so there aren't a lot of people even in yet, but he can already tell it's going to be louder than he's used to. He makes a note to invest in a good pair of headphones. 

The desk itself is currently piled high with boxes, papers, and stacks of what look like receipts and requisition orders, which strongly indicates that this office has been hurting for an office manager for quite some time. 

More disturbingly, there's a party platter from a sandwich shop sitting on top of a box of files that has what looks like soggy old sandwiches on it.

Natasha wrinkles her nose. "Sorry about this. I think the bill for the cleaning service lapsed and they must not have come over the weekend. The ledger is...under here somewhere."

Bucky stares at the desk. It's...big, at least? Bigger than his old one. And beneath the piles of folders and papers, he can see a sleek computer and double monitors, a thick coat of dust over them, ready to be fired up. "How about," he starts delicately, "I...sort through all this and see about settling that account so they can come tonight?"

"Yes, perfect," she says with obvious relief. "I'll take the tray. You settle in, relax, and I’ll see you later."

That done, Natasha hurries away, leaving Bucky to figure out how to do his new job. He's about halfway through sorting a stack of invoices when he feels someone staring at him. He really shouldn't look up. 

He does anyway.

He’s being watched by a guy in a purple and black hoodie with short blond hair and beady blue eyes. He smiles when they make eye contact, pushing away from his desk and sailing toward Bucky on the wheels of his chair until he coasts to a stop in front of him. "Hey."

Bucky clears his throat. "Hi, I'm Bucky, the new office manager." He holds out his hand.

The guys takes it. "Clint."

"Well, Clint..." starts Bucky. "Is there...something I can do for you?"

"We haven't had the right cookies in a month. We ran out."

"Um. I'm sorry?"

"Pepperidge Farm Sausalitos."

Bucky feels a rush of irritation. It's his first day. He still needs to find the invoice for the cleaning company so he has the chance of maybe, just maybe, preventing the entire company from getting food poisoning or the plague or something. He takes a deep breath. "I...will put them on the Costco list."

Clint stares back at him for a long moment. Too long. Finally, blessedly, he says, "Cool."

Then, he pushes away from Bucky's desk and glides back to his own, shouting distantly, "Welcome to Stark & Rogers!"

By the time Bucky clears off most of the desk, it's nearly time for lunch. Natasha materializes again, startling Bucky. "Come on, there's a lunch meeting today with all the team managers. I'll introduce you."

"Oh, I brought my lunch today."

"Save it for dinner," says Natasha, waving him off. "Don't bother bringing your lunch here. You're going to be ordering food for at least one lunch meeting every day. Order enough for yourself, too."

Natasha leads Bucky into a large conference room. There’s a buffet of pizza boxes lining the side of the room with one very tiny salad at the end. 

About ten people are lined up, stacking their plates with slices and grabbing cans of soda before they take a seat at the huge middle table. Bucky follows Natasha's lead and gets his own plate before sitting down next to her. A man with a ridiculously perfect goatee stands up. "Alright, everyone shut up. It's meeting time."

The thing is, Bucky tries to listen. He really, honestly, tries to listen. It's his first day, he's overwhelmed, and he only knows the names of two (2) people; he _needs_ to pay attention and get his bearings, but about ten seconds into the meeting, the door opens to admit a very tall, very broad man, and Bucky instantly loses all reason. 

Even if the man _wasn't_ absolutely beautiful, with blond hair and piercing blue eyes, a couple of days worth of rugged, golden scruff on his diamond-sharp jaw, and long eyelashes Bucky can see from across the room, Bucky would still be doomed. He sucks in a breath through his nose, mid-chew, and the man's _scent_ clocks him in the face like a baseball bat. 

It's so _strong_ —so rich and decadent—that heat sweeps through his body as the warm smell of coffee house vanilla lattes and freshly-baked blackberry cobbler fills Bucky's nose.

It's such a shock, so cozy and _safe_ , that Bucky inhales sharply, trying to get _more_ , and then he promptly chokes on the pizza in his mouth. 

He really, properly chokes. A wad of burning-hot crust lodges in his throat, and Bucky abruptly can't breathe. Panicked, he tries to cough, but nothing happens. He can't make a sound. Bucky just sits beside Natasha, quietly choking to death on pizza, because it's his first day at a new job and this is exactly the kind of thing that happens to him.

It takes him several more seconds to come to terms with the fact that he's not going to dislodge this on his own, that it is well and truly stuck in his windpipe, and suddenly fight or flight seems to kick in because he stands so abruptly that he knocks his chair over and everyone in the room swivels their attention to him. He staggers, trying to cough, trying desperately to expel the hunk of cheese and dough, before he finally coordinates his limbs enough to make the universal gesture of _I AM CHOKING_. 

Suddenly, _everyone_ is in motion, people leaping to their feet, voices rising, general chaos. Strong arms spin him around and wrap tight around him, and then—

One, two, three squeezes later, the food ejects itself from Bucky's throat and hits the window with a wet splat. Bucky gasps, sucking in deep, grateful breaths while someone rubs his back. 

"Oh my god," says Natasha, immediately at his side, reaching out a hand to just barely touch his arm. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he croaks, face burning now that he can breathe. His eyes won’t stop watering. He looks around a little wildly, the entire meeting room staring back at him in shock. It’s hideously embarrassing. "It’s fine. You can all sit down. I’m sorry. It’s fine. I just need a second to breathe."

"Come on," says a deep voice behind him. "You don't need to be here for this meeting and I can get updates from Tony later—"

"Oh, sure. I'll be your secretary," snarks goatee man—Tony. But he looks somewhat relieved and nods to Bucky. "Go get some air."

Bucky's too dazed to argue. He lets himself be guided out of the room, away from Natasha, down the hall and into what seems like one of the few private offices in the whole building. It's only after he's sitting down that he realizes that the smell, the most incredible scent of all time, is surrounding him. He finally looks at his rescuer, blinking up at the horribly good-looking blond man.

He smiles back down at Bucky, eyes crinkling as he leans back against his desk. "Alright?"

"Yeah," wheezes Bucky, even though he is so far from alright that he might as well be careening wildly through space. He's hot all over, his throat is sore, his gums feel burned, and he thinks that he's sweating through his nicest shirt. _God_ , what a nightmare. What an absolute fucking _nightmare_. 

"Let me get you some water," says his rescuer. Bucky watches helplessly, breathing shallowly as he rises again, his suit jacket stretched over big biceps. There's a little minifridge in the corner of the office, and he ducks down to retrieve a bottle of water, giving Bucky a very good view of his tight ass as he bends over. "Here we go," he says, handing the bottle to Bucky as he settles back against his desk. 

"Thank you," rasps Bucky. The whole office is _saturated_ with his frankly incredible scent, so Bucky keeps breathing through his mouth and desperately hoping he can get through this without embarrassing himself further. 

"I'm Steve," he says, watching as Bucky fumbles the cap off the water with shaky fingers. "Is this your first day?"

Heat suffuses Bucky's cheeks. "Yes," he admits, bobbing his head in a mortified nod. "I'm Bucky. I'm the new office manager."

"Oh, thank god," says Steve. "Everyone is really excited for you to be on the team."

"I'm making a great first impression, I'm sure," Bucky says dryly, sipping cautiously at the water. He has to breathe through his nose again, though, and he's enveloped in the toasty vanilla'd scent of steamed milk and espresso. God, it's making his head spin. Bucky's always been aware of how some Alphas just smell _better_ to him than others, but this is the first time he's been so thoroughly swept off his feet by someone's scent. 

"Don't worry about it," Steve says gently, with a big bright smile. "Accidents happen. I think everyone is probably just glad you're okay."

"Yes," says Bucky, his defensive instinct to be a snarky little shit kicking in. "It's already been expressed to me that you've been out of the good cookies for weeks."

Steve chuckles warmly, long fingers tapping absently against the edge of the desk and he leans back, arms bracketing his hips. "So you met Clint."

"Yep," confirms Bucky. He licks his lips, chasing a drop of water, half surprised when he doesn't actually taste any coffee, despite what his nose is cataloguing. "He was quick to introduce himself."

Steve's grin gets wider. "See? All you have to do is stock the pantry and no one will even remember what happened in the conference room. We're easy around here." Steve crosses his ankles and it cocks his hips to the side, drawing Bucky's attention there, to the long line of his well-muscled legs, before he manages to jerk his gaze back up to Steve’s face.

Bucky takes another slow sip to buy himself time before he's required to respond. "I'll keep that in mind," he says at length. "I think I'm okay now. We could go back to the meeting?"

Steve bobs his head, smiling kindly. "Sure thing."

Bucky starts to get up at the same time that Steve pushes away from the desk and they bump into each other and stumble back, but Steve recovers his balance first and reaches out to keep Bucky from falling. Bucky's whole face heats up. "Sorry, sorry!"

There's a brief squeeze of Steve's hand before it drops and he says, "Not a problem."

God, _why_. Bucky can barely bring himself to look at Steve before he turns around and walks with whatever dignity he can scrounge up. When they do make it back to the conference room, people look over but don't say anything, paying attention to the current presenter. Bucky slips in wordlessly and takes his seat next to Natasha, who glances at him with a questioning smile. 

Bucky nods in acknowledgement, trying and failing to ignore as Steve sits down just a couple of seats away from him, his scent still following Bucky appealingly.

Despite the fact that Bucky is no longer actively choking, he still can't concentrate on anything that's happening around him. 

Different people stand up and present, slide decks are projected, questions are asked, but Bucky can't focus on anything but Steve, his scent wrapped around Bucky like a warm blanket fresh out of the dryer. He's _flustered_ by it, embarrassed by how stupid it's making him; what kind of working professional gets totally knocked on his ass by a nice-smelling Alpha? But coupled with the humiliation of being heimlich'd in front of thirty people, Bucky's brain has been scrambled like an egg. He's too shaken to do anything but sit and seethe, pretending to listen to a parade of people he hasn't even met yet. 

When the meeting finally lets out, he gets up and turns his attention pleadingly to Natasha. They leave together; Steve is still in the conference room talking with Tony and he doesn't look at Bucky. 

"You sure you're okay?" Natasha asks quietly as they head back to Bucky's desk. 

"I'm fine," says Bucky. "Please just never mention it again."

Her mouth quirks a little at the corner. "Fair enough. You met Steve, though."

Bucky bobs his head in a jerky nod. He sure did. He sure did that. "He let me take a breather in his office and gave me some water."

"Good," says Natasha. "He's the less eccentric cofounder to start with. Tony can be overwhelming."

Bucky's brain sputters to a stop. "Cofounder?"

Natasha nods. "The Rogers of Stark & Rogers."

"I didn't realize," Bucky says thinly. "He just said 'Steve'."

"Don't worry about it," Natasha soothes. "He was clearly concerned. Both Steve and Tony don't like to stand on ceremony, and he definitely wouldn't want you to feel nervous or uncomfortable interacting with him. Listen, I have a meeting to get to. Is there anything you need? Anything I can help with? Otherwise we can touch base in an hour."

"No, I'm fine," Bucky says, voice faint. "I'm going to keep...filing."

Natasha nods and turns away, leaving Bucky to the significantly reduced mess on his desk. By the time she returns about an hour later, he's managed to single out several bills that need to be addressed and also located the company Costco membership card. It’s still valid, too. He also wiped the dust off his monitors and booted up the computer, which is when Natasha walks up. "Oh good, they're working. Your login is in the onboarding booklet I gave you this morning. Once you log in to Windows, open up Outlook, and it should automatically sign you into your new email. I sent you one with instructions on adding the generic office manager account. From there, we can set you up with access to the petty cash account and get you a company credit card for Costco runs and any other expenses."

Bucky’s stomach drops out. "You do know that I don't have a car, right? Or even a driver's license. I didn’t think—you didn’t mention anything during the interview, and if it’s a requirement, then—"

Natasha waves him off. "Oh, don’t worry about that. We can send one of the interns or students with you who can drive. It's not a problem. There's a company vehicle."

"Okay, thanks," he says, relieved. 

"Of course," she nods. "I have to go to yet another meeting, but I'll email you later. I have catering set up for tomorrow and Wednesday's lunch meetings, but you'll be taking over from there. You can either order whatever you're in the mood for but only from the list of approved options—don't ask, there was a very lengthy debate. It's in the company charter that Tony and Steve have to approve any new options because apparently when you start a company at twenty-one, you add catering regulations so the founding documents of said company. Or you can send out a survey for what the attendees are in the mood for. Honestly: just order what you want. They'll forget or change their mind anyway."

Bucky needs to write this all down. His head is spinning a bit. Natasha keeps dropping nuggets of wisdom that he's sure he'll forget in ten minutes. 

"Got it," he says briskly, because if he lets her go, he can grab a post-it note and scribble a reminder. When he gets logged into his computer, he’ll start a Trello board, keep track of all these tasks, but for now, pen and paper will have to do.

Somehow, he survives his first day. The rest of the afternoon absolutely flies by; there's so much to do, to learn, but he's feeling pretty good by the time he looks up and realizes it's almost six. He's been here for nearly ten hours. Bucky isn't adverse to staying as late as necessary, but he doesn't like to make a habit of overtime either, especially considering he's salaried. This job is paying him better, and he has good benefits and better perks, but he believes pretty strongly in work-life balance. 

Still. Once he gets things organized, catches up on everything that's fallen through the cracks, he'll be able to breathe a little. A week or two of long days, and then he's confident he'll be able to leave at a more regular time. As he's packing up, Natasha reappears, looking genuinely surprised to see him.

"Hey. You're still here?"

"Oh, um, yeah," says Bucky. "I finished sorting all the receipts. Tomorrow, I can—"

"Head home, Bucky," she says firmly. "You did great today. We can chat tomorrow morning if anything came up that you don't know how to deal with."

 _Yeah_ he thinks. _One of my bosses smells so good, I can’t think straight around him._

Clearing his throat, Bucky gives Natasha a tight smile. “So far so good, but I’ll keep you in the loop.”

He gathers up his things, his lunch bag and messenger bag, pocketing his cell phone, and he heads to the elevator. Bucky lets out a sigh of relief as he hits the sidewalk. Checking his phone again, he decides to stop at the nearest electronics store to finally make use of his signing bonus and buy the pair of headphones he’s been coveting for months. He’ll need them for work and it’s also a nice distraction from the humiliation of his day. 

He’s securing his new purchase in his bag when his phone vibrates and the caller ID tells him it’s his sister. Bracing himself, he accepts the call. “Hey, Becca.”

Becca does not give him a hello. “Why aren't you home yet? Is everything okay? You’re not still at work, are you?” 

Bucky frowns. “How do you know I’m not home yet?”

“Because I’m here and you’re not. I was going to pick you up and take you home for dinner. Sharon made a roast.” 

“Oh.” God, he’s tired. Bucky was really looking forward to decompressing alone after a long day. “That’s really thoughtful, but I kind of wanted to stay in tonight. I had a long day, and—“

“Nonsense. What you need is a night with your family. We want to hear about your new job.” And just like that, Bucky’s older—and Alpha—sister will get her way, like always. 

Bucky sighs, too tired to fight about it. “Okay. I just stopped at the store on the way. I’ll be there soon. I just need to catch the train.”

“I’ll just come get you. Where’s the nearest Starbucks? Stop in there and wait for me.”

After the embarrassing, long-ass day he's had, Bucky wasn't really expecting he'd have to deal with Becca on a tear, too. Or a family dinner. He wants to go home, alone, and change into pajamas, alone, eat takeout, alone, and watch YouTube videos, _alone_. He wants to wrap himself in a blanket and _relax_. 

Instead, though, he gives her the address of the Starbucks across the street from him, and he waits outside, leaning up against the wall, because he doesn't like going in a Starbucks if he's not ordering anything. 

Becca pulls up alongside him less than ten minutes later. 

As he gets into the car, she says, "I told you to wait inside. Someone could just reach out and grab your phone out of your hands while you're standing there texting."

Bucky represses a sigh. _I'm 27 years old_ , he doesn't say. "It's broad daylight," he says instead. 

"So? That doesn't stop anyone. "You should—" she cuts herself off, fixing Bucky with an odd look, her eyes narrowing and her nostrils flaring. Then she reaches across the center console of her SUV and hooks an arm around his neck, dragging him in. 

"Hey!" he yelps. She's not scruffing him, exactly, but it sure feels like it. Then she shoves her nose into his hair and snuffles at his scalp.

"Why the hell do you smell like some strange Alpha?" she demands. "Who was touching you enough at work to get their scent all over you?!"

Bucky's heart sinks. It didn't occur to him at all that someone else would be able to smell Steve on him. He'd already planned on omitting everything about Steve from his recount of the day, including the pizza incident, but now he has to explain it away to Becca, who looks like she's seconds away from hunting Steve down and tearing his throat out. 

"I choked on my lunch," he blurts, face flaming. "And one of the executives in the meeting had to give me the heimlich."

“Jamie!” she cries, going from smothering outrage to smothering concern in an instant. “Why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t you go home immediately? Did they make you stay? I knew this new job was too good to be true.”

“Becca!” he finally gives into the urge to whine, pushing her away while baring his throat at the same time. It’s the best way he knows to show his submission but still get his way. “Please, I’m fine! They were very kind and they would have let me leave if I’d wanted but I didn’t. I didn’t want to cause a bigger scene. I didn’t even pass out, it was over in seconds. I promise.”

She brushes her wrist over the column of his neck with a frown but lets him go. Bucky rubs at the spot where she touched him, burning up with indignation he knows better than to express. It’s not like he’d be in trouble or get yelled at, it’s that he’d have to listen to her explain in painful detail all the ways she doesn’t view him as an adult who can take care of himself without ever using those words. _Naive, gentle, soft, tender, vulnerable._ **Omega**. 

“Well, I’m glad you’re coming to dinner anyway,” she finally settles on. “It’ll do you good to be scented by your family.”

Bucky bites his lip and turns to look out the window as she puts the car in drive.

It's not like she gave him a choice. He tried to refuse and she steamrolled right over him. He'd rather be home, relaxing on his own terms, but apparently after a ten hour day, he needs to continue to _be around people_ , even if it's just his family. 

"Is it just you and Sharon and the kids?" Bucky asks hopefully. 

"Ronnie and Amanda too," says Becca. 

Bucky slumps. All his sisters. _Great_. He's not getting home before midnight. In fact, knowing Becca, she'll bully him into staying the night, and he'll either need to get to his apartment before work to change tomorrow, or he'll have to wear the same clothes he's wearing now to work. 

"Did you call mom?" 

Bucky blinks at his sister, incredulous. "When?" he asks. "I got off work like twenty minutes before you called me. I hadn't even gotten home yet."

"You should call her after dinner, you know she'll be worrying about your first day," says Becca. She doesn't even acknowledge how ridiculous her question was to begin with. "She spent all weekend fretting about how impulsive this decision was when you were so well-established at your old job."

"They were underpaying me," says Bucky wearily. It doesn't matter. He's had this conversation ten times already. 

"You know money isn't an issue, Jamie."

Bucky experiences the gut-kick of frustration this topic always dredges up as he opens his mouth to say for the hundredth, maybe _millionth_ time, that money _is_ an issue if he wants to pay his bills without any help from his mom or the rest of his family sometime in the future, but he snaps his mouth closed, stewing instead. He doesn’t want help forever and eventually, Becca _will_ find out what their mom is doing, somehow. Then she'll feel even more entitled to bossing him around than she already does—his whole family will. 

Bucky's family isn’t exactly filthy rich, but his mother and father, an Alpha and Beta power-couple, owned a very successful medical practice together before they sold it to his sisters and retired to Miami. All three of his sisters followed in their parents' footsteps into healthcare, with Becca and Ronnie going to medical school and Amanda becoming a nurse practitioner. As the only member of the Barnes family without the drive and ambition and, well, stomach for the medical field, Bucky has always been the odd man out, the black sheep, which isn't exactly helped by the fact that he's also the only Omega.

Getting a degree in something as impractical and distant from medicine as _poetry_ sure didn’t downplay the perception of him as a sensitive flower, either. 

At least he's good at organizing things. 

"Do we have to have the same conversation again? It's been a long day, Becca."

Becca huffs. "I hope this place doesn't think they can overwork you just because they're paying you more."

Bucky gets the very sudden and sharp urge to cry, but he pushes it down hard. If he cries today, his sisters will probably kidnap him from his own life and put him in a plastic bubble. "It was just a busy day with so many new things. They were nice, Becks," he says quietly, voice only just above a whisper. Taking a breath, he tries to switch topics. "How are the kids?"

Becca purses her lips but allows the subject to drop, shifting into talking about her children, twin girls who turn seven in a month, and a five year old boy who just started kindergarten. Bucky loves his nieces and nephew. His mood lifts, excited to hang out with them, but dips just as quickly when he remembers that by the time they get to Becca's, the kids will be in bed. The only focused attention he's going to get tonight is from his sisters and sister-in-law. He was already tired, but now he just feels exhausted.

"We're home!" calls Becca as she lets them both into the house when they arrive, Bucky trailing in after her.

Sharon appears, swooping in to kiss Becca and then pulling Bucky in for a hug. Becca surrounds him from the other side, Bucky squished into a tight hug that forces an indignant squawk out of him. "Hey!"

"He smells," mutters Sharon. 

"I know," says Becca. She gives him a squeeze and then finally he's released. "He choked on his lunch and had to be rescued and didn't even tell me about it until he got into the car smelling like this!"

"Stop talking about me like I'm not even here," mutters Bucky. "Can we please not do this? I had a good day."

Sharon ruffles his hair. "Dinner's almost ready. Your sisters are just plating everything up."

Becca wraps her arm around Bucky's shoulders, walking him down the hall and into the kitchen, where Ronnie is pulling a big pot out of the oven and Amanda is taking plates out of the cupboard. 

"There he is!" cries Amanda. "Bucky-baby, how was your first day?"

"He ch—"

"Becca!" hollers Bucky. "Stop! It was _fine_. Busy, but good. I like it."

While Becca is unbearably overbearing so much of the time, Amanda and Ronnie's approach tends to be more indulgent and condescending, doting on him like he's still a pouty, cherub-faced toddler instead of a grownass adult. Both of them make quick work of setting down their tasks and coming over to scoop him into another dual hug, rubbing their cheeks against his hair, hands and wrists dragging over him as they smother him with their scents. 

"I'm so glad you had a good day!" says Ronnie, kissing his cheek as she pulls away. "What a fun adventure!"

"Did you meet anyone nice? Make any friends?" asks Amanda, reaching up to fix his hair. 

Bucky suppresses a whine and bats her away to fix his own hair. Make friends? It wasn’t his first day of _school_. "Don't touch the curls, they'll frizz!"

Everyone in the room just _laughs_ at him.

Washing his hands at the sink, Bucky answers, "Everyone was nice. I don't know if they'll be my friends. We’re colleagues. They seemed really excited to have me there, though."

"Well, of course," says Sharon, picking up glasses as she follows Ronnie and Amanda to the table with the food. "They're lucky to have you."

"I still don't like that they were willing to have you burn your bridges at your old job. What respectable company does that?" asks Becca as she rolls up her sleeves and joins Bucky at the kitchen sink to wash up. 

"It's not even that big of a deal,” says Bucky. “Judy messaged me over the weekend and said they already promoted one of the administrative assistants into the position. They didn't even miss a beat."

"It's the principle of the matter." Becca shuts off the water and hands Bucky a dish towel to dry off before grabbing her own. She points at the bowl on the counter. "Get the salad."

Rolling his eyes when she's not looking, Bucky picks it up and brings it in, sitting down in his usual spot between Ronnie and Amanda, Becca and Sharon taking the seats across from them. "I wish I could have kissed the girls goodnight," says Bucky as they start digging in. 

"Well, you'll just have to stay the night and you can see them in the morning before you leave," says Becca with a smile.

Ugh. He walked right into that one.

"I don't have clothes to change into," Bucky protests. "So I'll have to go to my place before I go to work. It really would be better for me to go home after dinner."

"You don't want to see the kids?" Becca's eyes are wide and guileless. 

Bucky groans. "Of course I do! But I have to be in the office by eight. I'll just take the train home, tonight—"

"Nonsense," interrupts Becca. Notably, everyone else is quiet, letting Bucky battle this out on his own. Just once, he wishes someone would speak up and help him claw back just a bit of autonomy for himself. "I can take you to your place bright and early, and I'll wait while you—"

"Please," begs Bucky. Tears are stinging his eyes but he breathes shallowly, desperate to keep a lid on the impotent frustration rising up to choke him. "Becca, I am going home tonight after dinner. I want to sleep in my own bed. I want to take a shower tomorrow morning and get dressed and go to work on my own."

He didn't think he was raising his voice at all, but silence rings in his ears as he finishes talking. Becca is very still, her expression unreadable. Next to her, Sharon visibly slides a hand under the table onto Becca's knee.

"Fine," Becca says tightly. "But you're not taking the train home so late tonight."

Honestly, at this point, Bucky will take _any_ concession Becca is willing to make. "Okay," he says, ducking his head and poking at his dinner with his fork. "Thank you." He clears his throat. "This is, um, this is delicious."

"Thanks, Jamie," Sharon says kindly.

Ronnie jumps in not long after that, bringing up one of her many over-the-top dating stories about some failure of an Alpha. Bucky keeps quiet, laughing and nodding along when he's supposed to. It's not that he doesn't like being with his family, it's just that he wishes they understood him, that they didn't look at him as the baby, the one that needs to be looked after. Either way, he makes it through dinner somehow, and even manages to escape being driven home by Becca when Amanda says she’s heading to her friend's house near Bucky's anyway, and she can give him a ride. 

"Fine," says Becca, pulling him in for another aggressive scenting masked as a hug. "But text me when you get home tonight and I want you to _call me_ tomorrow after work. If I don't hear from you by six, I'm coming over again."

Bucky only nods, waving goodbye. Amanda is blessedly uninterested in talking about Becca's behavior or Bucky's life as they drive to Bucky's neighborhood, chatting away instead about running into their old neighbors at Coney Island last weekend. Bucky is able to hum out appropriate responses until he makes it to his building. 

It's more expensive than he'd like, but it has a live-in super on the first floor and decent security in a relatively quiet neighborhood, so his sisters actually allowed him to move into it. When he makes it up to his 6th floor walk up one-bedroom apartment, he locks the door behind him and sends a text to Becca before he strips down and heads straight to the shower. He really doesn't want to show up to work tomorrow reeking of his entire family—well, beyond what is absolutely unavoidable with the amount of scenting they did.

It's almost ten by the time he finally gets to change into clean pajamas and crawl into bed. He's completely wiped out, groaning as he curls up in his nest of pillows and swipes through his messages to make sure he hasn't left anyone on read. 

He hates getting home and having to go to bed immediately. He _wants_ to sleep, he's tired and comfortable, but he _resents_ that he doesn't have a single scrap of time left for himself tonight. Instead, he's utterly drained by endless hours of human interaction, he's going to pass out in the next five minutes, and then when he jerks awake to his alarm in the morning, it will feel like he didn't get any sleep at all because he wasn't given time to decompress alone. 

Which is exactly what happens. He doesn't remember his eyelids drooping closed, but suddenly his alarm goes off in his hand, and Bucky startles awake in a panic, lying in exactly the same position he presumably fell asleep in. 

He groans, rubbing at his gritty eyes and rolling over to shove his face into his pillow. 

It's fine. He showered last night, so he can lie here just a little longer. He's too much of a neurotic mess to actually fall asleep again, but he dozes a little before he finally drags himself out of bed to start putting together an outfit for the day. The routine is nice, though. Getting dressed, making a smoothie, taking his vitamins, and packing his bag before he locks up his apartment and leaves for work. 

Transit is kind to him and he gets into the office nice and early, finding it pleasantly quiet. He makes a cup of coffee in the kitchen, which he didn't actually get to see yesterday, and then sits at his desk and checks his calendar and email for half an hour, building his to-do list for the day. 

At 8:30, Natasha appears at his desk. "Good morning, Bucky."

"Good morning," he greets, smiling at her shyly. 

"Happy to see you came back," she says dryly. "Near-death experience didn't scare you off, hm?"

He lets out a breath, cheeks warming. "No, thought I'd give it a second chance."

"Wonderful," she says with a smile. "I noticed the cleaning crew came through last night. Well done."

Like a flower to sunlight, Bucky blossoms under the praise, grinning up at her. "Thank you. I'm happy to help. Is there anything else you'd like me to prioritize today? I've started on a list of tasks I think would be best, but—"

"No, that should be fine. I trust you," she says. "And just in case anyone else tries to influence you, I want to make it clear that you don't answer to every yahoo in this office. You don't even answer to me, though obviously I'll be checking in on you periodically over the next month and you can continue to ask me any questions."

Bucky nods along. "And you said...the Chief Operations Officer is my direct supervisor? Ms. Potts?"

"Yes, she's been away from the office at a conference in Japan, and prior to that she was at our California offices for awhile. Hence why she wasn't at your interview this past Thursday. She’ll be back next week and I'll introduce you. Above her is only Tony Stark and Steve Rogers, who you met yesterday."

"Oh wow, I knew you mentioned Ms. Potts in the interview, but I guess I didn't realize she was um, one of the company executives." Bucky's always been so low on the pecking order, he's never even met most of the c-suite officers at his previous company.

"We try to keep the leadership structure around here fairly flat so no one feels like they're answering to 20 different bosses. We really only have about three hundred of our employees here in New York. The bulk of our staff live and work in California or telecommute." Natasha leans in closer, her soft Beta scent only just noticeable. "Between you and me, we probably would have closed these offices entirely and moved out west when we first went public, but Steve's a Brooklyn boy, born and raised. He insists on staying right here. I'm grateful, though. I'd wilt in the sun out there."

"I'm a Brooklyn boy, too," says Bucky. "So I'm glad you guys stuck around. I don't have to go to midtown for work anymore, I should be promising you my firstborn child."

Natasha's full lips curve into an amused smirk. "I won't make you sign another contract. Okay, I've gotta go, slack me if you need anything."

Bucky waves her off and then turns back to his list. He spends a little while finalizing the Costco shopping list. From the records he was left, he can see they didn't really have a schedule for restocking the pantry, going every week or two, presumably whenever they ran out of the items that people wanted most. He's definitely not going to maintain _that_ level of chaos. This needs to be a regular occurrence on the same day each week, booked into his calendar, with a spreadsheet to track items. 

When he's finished, he decides to take himself on a tour. Natasha didn't really have time to do that yesterday, so he does a quick loop of the office. There are two sets of bathrooms on either side of the building, and surrounding the big open space in the middle are offices and meeting rooms. The kitchen takes up the entire back quarter of the floor, with a haphazard arrangement of tables and mismatched chairs. There are four fridges, a four-slice toaster with enough crumbs jammed in it to start a fire, and two coffee machines. 

Peeking into the fridges reveals that one is entirely filled with long trays of catering leftovers, one is devoted _entirely_ to milk, the third is filled with individual employee lunches, and the fourth is just for soda. 

The kitchen is, quite frankly, disgusting. 

Poking gingerly at the pantry shelves and cupboards and peering into the two sinks strikes the fear of god into Bucky. 

He witnesses:  
\- a package of english muffins still sealed with the bread tie, the bag ripped open with both hands  
\- catering leftovers growing colonies of mold  
\- an entire block of butter left out on a paper plate that has turned translucent

The counters are crumb-covered and sticky, the sinks are full of dirty mugs and dishes, and there are empty boxes lying everywhere in full view of the recycling bins.

Did this happen _today_? The cleaners were here last night. What kind of monsters does he work with?

He’s rummaging under the sink for cleaner and trash bags, grumbling to himself, when someone comes into the kitchen and stops at his shoulder. The smell hits him before the voice does. 

“You know, we have a cleaning staff. Did someone tell you it was your job to clean up? Listen, you don’t have to put up with that. Just because you’re an Omega—”

Bucky can feel how red he is, between the frustration of the mess, the embarrassment of being caught, and the ridiculousness of how fucking _good_ Steve Rogers smells, he may just pass out. 

He spots the roll of bags, tossed in the back under what looks like Halloween and Easter decorations, and he snatches them up before he stands with as much dignity as he can muster. “No one _told_ me to keep the work area clean, but it’s filthy and the cleaning crew won’t be able to come again until _tonight_ , and I was trying to do an inventory because no one has done a Costco run in weeks and I’m afraid the whole office is going to go feral because apparently no one here is capable of securing their own snacks as fully grown adults!”

When he finishes, the look on Steve’s face is...hard to parse. Neutral, definitely, but if Bucky didn’t know better, he’d think he was _amused_. “Hmm, I see your point.”

All at once, the fact that he just had a small meltdown at his boss, hell, _everyone’s_ boss hits him. “Uh. Not that—I mean, I will figure it out. It’s fine. I’m sorry.”

Oh, _god_. 

He should have known this job was doomed from the start. He compromised his morals for money, failed the test, and now he's paying the price by incrementally losing his mind. He just sniped at one of the _cofounders_. This is Steve Rogers, of Stark & Rogers, and Bucky called his employees _feral_. 

"That was inappropriate," Bucky continues, because Steve hasn't spoken yet, and he needs to do _something_ to salvage this waking nightmare. "I shouldn't have—none of this is your problem, I'm sorry. That was incredibly rude."

Steve shakes his head. "No. This is my problem, and you're right to be frustrated by the state of cleanliness. It's appalling. I don't come in here much, to be honest."

Bucky takes in a slow, measured breath. Everything about Steve screams _calm_ right now. He's not angry or offended. 

"In fact," Steve says. "Do anything you need to do to get ahead of this. Signs, memos, public shaming." He smiles at Bucky. "Whatever you deem necessary to curb this kind of—" Steve's sharp blue eyes settle on the array of half-full bags of bagels that are lying open on the counter. "Feral behavior."

Bucky makes the mistake of breathing in deeper and gets a warm flood of Christmas baking. Does Steve Rogers chemically boost his pheromones to smell more appealing? What the _fuck_.

His eyes flutter and he has to tighten up his whole body to keep from shivering. Instead, he tries to clear his throat and chokes a little, and then he's coughing. He does manage to nod and when he's done trying to die, he takes a slower breath. "Right, okay, I'll...um, do that." Casting around for some reason Steve is still standing there in front of him, _looking_ at him and _smelling like that_ , Bucky tries, "Is there anything I can do for you?"

Steve's smile is slow but brighter than the midmorning sun. "Not just yet. I may need your help soon though. The development team will likely be putting in some extra hours next week and none of them remember to eat when they get like that. I'd like to make sure we order some dinner in."

Bucky nods, eager to have a purpose for this conversation that isn't mortifying. "Of course. If you know how many people, I can get some options together." He smiles back at Steve.

There's a brief moment of eye contact that seems to stretch out but finally, it resolves, and Steve nods and moves past Bucky, opening up the soda fridge and grabbing a can before he leaves, taking his delicious scent with him.

Bucky deflates like a leaky bicycle tire, sagging against the counter with the trash bags still clutched in his hands. He has got to figure out a better way to interact with Steve Rogers. When his nerves finally settle, he throws himself into cleaning the breakroom, throwing out everything even remotely questionable. He fills two and a half bags. 

After, though, he has a clearer idea of what else he needs to get from Costco and he sits down to finish his list. He has another meeting to oversee catering for today but this time he's able to bring a plate back to his desk with him after he's certain everyone has been fed, using the relative quiet to review the stack of office-related mail that no one has touched in what must be weeks.

By the end of his first week, Bucky is actually feeling pretty good. 

Somehow, he doesn't embarrass himself again. Apparently he peaked on Monday and experienced a stumble on Tuesday and from there, it's smooth sailing. It might be because he doesn't have any other close encounters with Steve Rogers. He does see him from a distance a couple of times, but he's safe as long as Steve isn't within twenty feet of him. 

Natasha checks in on him, transferring over the last of the tasks she's been covering for the last month or so, Bucky taking over the calendars she was managing and freeing her from ordering catering. He gets all the backed up mail sorted and delivered, bringing overdue invoices and bills to the attention of finance, and places a massive office supply order to refill the printer room. He gets the pantry restocked, taking his first trip to Costco with an intern named Peter on Wednesday, and with an entire package of Pepperidge Farm Sausalitos clutched in his hands, Clint actually comes up to him afterwards to thank him personally. 

He thinks he's got a pretty good handle on the vibe of the office, at this point. It's a lot bigger than his old one, there's a lot more to keep track of, but Bucky is getting used to triaging the myriad complaints that people have. 

Anything from 'it's too cold in here' to 'there's a leak in the ceiling' is Bucky's problem. He puts up signs in the kitchen, firmly shaming people for not washing their dishes or leaving food open in the cupboards. He calls the landlord to fix a toilet that hasn't stopped flushing for 12 hours. He puts repeated messages into the company slack to remind people that they can't park wherever they feel like it and they _especially_ can't park in front of the garbage pickup. 

By Friday night, he's exhausted, though it's the kind of productive exhaustion that he's satisfied by.

He is very much looking forward to a mostly free weekend. He even manages to turn down an invitation to go out for drinks with coworkers by making an excuse about a prior commitment. They don't need to know that his prior commitment is to the bottle of wine and the knitting project he's been planning to start for weeks now. While he has a soccer game to be at tomorrow for his nieces, which the entire family will no doubt also be at, and the subsequent family dinner that will inevitably happen afterward, he's hopeful he will get to maintain the integrity of a Sunday all to himself. 

His luck holds, which makes for a Monday morning where he’s actually got a bounce to his step, falling into his newly-established routine with glee. All he has to do is take care of the space, provide for the people in it, and it seems he mostly gets to do it with autonomy. He gets to meet Ms. Potts soon, which he's a little nervous about, but from what he's managed to glean from conversation, she sounds amazing. 

He's arranged delivery for the noon meeting from the Italian restaurant on the preapproved list, ordering a variety of pastas but also a large salad, grilled veggies, and one of the pastas features gluten-free zucchini noodles. He's just setting out the last container, making sure there's a serving spoon and a place to rest it, when the meeting room door opens and Bucky gets a hit of perfectly brewed espresso with cream and vanilla. Steve.

He braces himself before he looks up. Over the weekend, he spent a long time trying to convince himself that Steve was not as attractive as his scent made him seem, but looking at him now, those efforts are wasted. He's beautiful. He's wearing a cashmere sweater over a collared shirt, paired with pressed, light gray slacks and loafers. His hair is artfully messy and swept to the side over his forehead, a little long over his ears like he needs a haircut. He also seems to have shaved away the stubble that was previously growing into beard territory, making his perfect jawline even more pronounced. His mouth is dark and pink and spreading rapidly into a grin when his perfect blue eyes take Bucky in. "Hey, you came back! First week wasn't enough to scare you away, huh?"

Bucky forces a small, nervous laugh. "No, you—the office is good, everyone's been nice."

"Good, I'm glad to hear it." Steve's gaze drops to the array of food spread out as he walks closer. "Looks like you're giving us quite the spread today."

 _I'd like you to give me quite the spread_ , thinks Bucky's horrible, traitorous brain. 

"Hngh," says Bucky's horrible, traitorous mouth. Heat floods his cheeks. He coughs, clearing his throat noisily. "It's just off the list. I hope—you like it." He takes a step back, desperate to free himself from Steve's radius. "I should....get out of your way. Enjoy your lunch."

Steve is still smiling, somehow, the kind of smile that looks _fond_ or _charmed_ , which is a terrible thought, that Steve is amused by him for whatever reason. Maybe he finds Bucky's fumbling idiocy funny. "Sure," he says easily, watching Bucky back out of the conference room. "Hey, how's your calendar looking? If you've got ten minutes, come by my office at four."

Oh, god. "Okay," says Bucky, managing to keep the hysteria he's currently feeling out of his voice. "I'll see you then." 

He doesn't _flee_ , exactly, but he also doesn't exit with anything resembling dignity. His heart is pounding by the time he makes it back to his desk, where he realizes he forgot to make up a plate of lunch for himself. Well, he can't go back now. He'll have to scrounge whatever leftovers he can when they meeting is over. 

Luckily, he can see the door to the conference room from his desk, so when the room has vacated—when _Steve_ has left and gone back to his office—Bucky goes to clean up. He's been given a trolley to ferry trays back and forth, so he loads it up with the leftovers and brings them to the kitchen, where all food is put up for grabs after the designated recipients have finished. Stomach growling, he makes up a plate for himself as a small crowd of scavengers gathers around him. It's mostly salad, with a bit of pasta on the side, and he carries it back to his desk to eat there while he goes through his email.

He doesn't even need to set a reminder for himself because Steve asking him to come to his office doesn't leave his brain for the entire afternoon.

This is turning into _such_ a problem. How is this even a thing? Bucky is a consummate professional. He's _never_ had a reaction like this to someone before, let alone someone he _works with_. A superior! 

He muddles through the rest of the afternoon, anxiety bubbling up in his gut. It's ten to four. Steve only wants him for a few minutes. Hopefully he'll just give Bucky a list of tasks and Bucky can _leave_. All he needs to know is how many people to order for, what time to do it, and how many days. 

"Coulda done it over email," Bucky mutters to himself, pushing reluctantly up from his chair.

When he gets to Steve's office, the door is open and he can see that he's on the phone. Bucky doesn't even have to knock, Steve glancing up just as Bucky's knuckles are poised to tap against the doorframe. Steve smiles and waves him in silently, gesturing to the chair across from his desk as he says into the phone, "Okay, yeah. That sounds good. Sure, no problem. Okay, hey listen, I've got a meeting I can't miss. I'll see you later this week, Pep."

 _Pep._ Like Pepper Potts? Steve just ended a call early with Pepper Potts to give him a dinner order. 

No, Steve used Bucky as an excuse to get off a call he probably didn't want to be on. Yes, that aligns better. Bucky smiles blandly and sits down where directed, leaning forward on the edge so he can spring away quickly when it's done. 

"Hey, sorry about that, she caught me just before," says Steve, pushing the phone to the corner of the desk and grabbing a notepad. "So, how've you been? I know you said last week turned out alright, but you can be truthful with me. Are there any other areas you think the office could stand to improve? Has everyone been responding to the signs and reminders? Everyone being respectful?"

"Oh," says Bucky, a little startled. Steve sounds so genuine and concerned. Bucky's last boss (to say nothing of his boss's boss) really only acknowledged him if something was wrong, which was never actually Bucky’s fault and usually his own, but nevertheless, Bucky heard about it. "Um, yes, it's been good. I think the kitchen is a work in progress, but no one has complained to me about it yet. I don't think there's much else to mention right now, but thank you for checking."

"Sure. You'll report to Pepper for the most part, but she's back and forth between west and east coast enough that you'll be trusted to make most decisions relevant to office upkeep on your own, but I'm sure Natasha's already explained that to you. Just know that both my door and Tony's are always open if anything comes up." Steve's eyes are sharp and clear, meeting Bucky's in steady contact that is obviously friendly and warm but is making Bucky feel like he's pinned in place.

"I'll keep that in mind. You guys seem really great." Bucky tries to take a low, steadying breath through his mouth without looking like he's avoiding breathing through his nose, but it doesn't seem to matter because the whole office smells of Steve, sugary and buttery and warm, wrapping itself around Bucky like a heavy blanket. "Um, so...the uh, the catering thing? How many people am I ordering for?"

"Well, it's a little different than normal. When they're crunching like this, we try to be as supportive as possible. We don't want our developers to get burnt out but sometimes more hours are just necessary. So on top of the bonuses, we try to make sure that not only do we have food here for them, but we send a meal home for their families. Most of our employees have a spouse and/or children, or even pets. Whatever their situation, we like to send something to the house to say sorry for keeping them. Work-life balance is really important to us here."

Bucky blinks. He has literally never heard of anything like this in his _life_. It's amazing but bizarre.

That does make things a little more challenging. He needs names, addresses, quantities....dietary preferences....

"I don't know how you've done this in the past, but if it's going to change day by day, a sign up sheet might work," says Bucky. Good, this is good. A problem to solve means he's not as focused on Steve's warm scent and blue eyes and the way his expertly-tailored shirts hug his biceps. 

"I could make a spreadsheet with all the information I'd need to make orders, and share it in the Dev slack channel," he continues at Steve's encouraging nod. "I could set up a bot for reminders, too, since I'd need some lead time to get orders in on time. But that way, I'd know who needs what on a daily basis."

"That sounds great," says Steve. "Whatever you do will be more organized than what we've had in the past."

"Is there a budget limit?"

"No," says Steve. "We anticipate one week at minimum, two weeks maximum, so just do what you need to do until then."

 _Holy shit_ , thinks Bucky. The thought of how much money goes to food at this place makes him a little weak at the knees. Private companies are wild. "Okay," he says faintly. "I can work with that."

"Thank you," says Steve, with a smile so big and warm Bucky is struck by the deeply inappropriate urge to roll over on his back and show Steve his belly. "If you need anything, or have any questions at all, let me know directly. Tony's in California this week, and usually he's the one that gets involved on the Product side of things."

"Of course," says Bucky. He thinks it's safe to stand up now, so he does. "Thank you. I'll get a spreadsheet together and shared out in the next half hour. Is tonight going to be a late one?"

"No," says Steve. "Overtime doesn't start until tomorrow, so please don't rush or stay late. As long as there's food for tomorrow night, everyone will be taken care of."

Oh, thank god. Bucky was starting to panic that it seemed too late to get anything organized for tonight that would account for families and dietary preferences. "I'll get it all taken care of," says Bucky. "Have a good night, Mr. Rogers."

"Steve," he corrects immediately. "Thank you, Bucky."

Bucky nods and books it out of his office, hurrying back to his desk. He's sitting at his computer taking deep breaths when Natasha materializes beside him. 

"Ah!" cries Bucky, because he's already on edge.

Natasha _laughs_ , holding up both hands to placate him. "Sorry," she murmurs, that husky voice blanketing Bucky's screaming brain. While Alpha hormones can make Bucky horny or on edge, Beta hormones are usually like a warm, soothing hug. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Bucky squeaks.

Natasha gives him a long look and then nods. "Good. Everyone's really happy with your work so far, Bucky. I knew you would be a good hire, but even I didn't realize how good."

Bucky's cheeks go hot with the praise. "Oh wow, thanks. I'm glad."

"Well, I was just about to head out for the day. Anything new crop up? Anything you need clarification on?"

Bucky shakes his head. "No, just—I know this is probably better suited to asking Ms. Potts, but would it be okay if I started working on getting a better description of the job's responsibilities put together, a list of tasks and how to do them? That way at least on my seasonal leaves, there'll be a better system in place for coverage."

"Of course, that would be incredibly helpful." Natasha nods, and then holds up her hand. "Oh, that reminds me. I should find out about when your seasonal leaves usually occur so I can mark it on the HR calendar. We do keep it private, but obviously—"

"It won't take long for people to get a sense of when I'm usually gone," finishes Bucky for her, nodding along. "I know, thank you. I’m pretty regular, um...." He picks up his phone to check his 4S app. "My next leave will need to be in the first week of January. Sorry about the holiday overlap."

Natasha shakes her head, snagging a post-it from Bucky's desk as she scribbles the date down. "Don't worry about it. And yours are every—"

"Every 12 weeks."

She finishes writing and straightens up. "Okay, I'll get that in. See you tomorrow!"

"Have a good night," Bucky calls as Natasha leaves. He doesn't necessarily have to build the spreadsheet now, but he _did_ tell Steve he would, even if he doesn't need it finished before tomorrow afternoon. He could probably do it first thing tomorrow and it would be fine. Nobody would know. 

But _Bucky_ knows what he said, and so he unlocks his computer and pops on his headphones. It only takes him about half an hour, all told, and when he gets in tomorrow, he can send it out to the dev team with plenty of time for reminders before the deadline he'll need to follow for ordering dinner. 

It's almost five thirty when he shuts down his computer, which is perfectly respectable. There's still plenty of people in the office; he's starting to get a sense of the hours people keep. The office is "open" from eight to six, but Bucky knows from his contract and the onboarding presentation that was shared with him that hours are flexible. Bucky's been getting in at eight and leaving anywhere between four and six, but there's also a very real sense of department preferences. Development either get in at seven and leave at three or get in at ten and leave at six, barring crunch. Sales appear hungover at mid-morning and often bounce at four, while Marketing seem to always be in before Bucky and still there when he leaves. 

Bucky thrives on structure and routine, so he doesn't think he'll take advantage of flexible hours until he has a medical appointment, where he's been told he doesn't need to book personal time off, but it's interesting to see the patterns. 

Steve is still in his office when Bucky walks past on his way out. Steve catches his eye, phone against his ear, and nods and waves to him. Bucky waves back, flushing hot from head to toe. 

The warm smell of vanilla lingers in his nose long after he's left.


	2. Part 2: Bucky (my lonely heart calls)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check the note at the end of the chapter for additional details regarding the warning for unsolicited scenting.

The next morning, Bucky does just as he planned, reviewing the spreadsheet and then sending it out with detailed instructions. 

He happens to notice when Steve gets in about twenty minutes later, and even though he _knows_ that he could just shoot him an email or wait to see what he says if he has anything to say about it at all, Bucky finds himself collecting his empty mug and taking a detour on the way to the kitchen for a refill. 

He knocks gently on the open door and when Steve looks up, he gives Bucky that beautiful smile again. Bucky's heart hammers as he takes a breath, Steve's scent filling his nose. There's nothing wrong with liking the way someone _smells_ , as long as he doesn't do anything inappropriate! It's perfectly fine. 

"Um, I sent out that spreadsheet," he begins. "Good morning, by the way."

"Morning! I just saw. Great job, thanks for getting that done so fast. It's way better than what we did last time." 

"Thanks." Bucky feels a little lightheaded at the compliment, breathless even though he's definitely breathing, the scent so soft and good, he’s dizzy from how much he likes it. "I was just on my way to get coffee, thought I'd stop by. Let me know if you need me to change anything."

Steve's eyes crinkle at the corners. "Sure thing, Buck. See you around."

"Bye," says Bucky, his feet carrying him away, though truthfully he feels a little like he's floating. He doesn't even remember how he gets back to his desk. Well okay, he remembers, but it's all hazy beneath the horribly filthy daydreams his brain keeps supplying. 

He doesn't even know why his brain is doing this. Bucky _just_ went through his seasonal leave a couple of weeks ago at his old job. He usually isn't this horny unless he's in heat. He's never met an Alpha that made him react like this, just by _existing_. Well, he's never met an Alpha that made him react at all, truthfully. He was starting to think maybe he was broken. Even his sisters were starting to be concerned that he’s never really dated, let alone spent a heat with anyone.

Bucky is hopeless and also a hopeless romantic.

But here he is, pining over one of his bosses, a man who absolutely does not seem like the kind of creep who'd make a move on an employee.

It doesn't matter. Bucky is a professional. A crush is fine. There's no harm in pining a little bit. 

He needs to snap out of it and get back to work, anyway. He's _busy_.

By lunch, Bucky's spreadsheet has been pretty much entirely filled out, and he only needs to send out one reminder later in the afternoon to get all the information he needs. He puts in the dinner order with the catering company he's chosen for the week, happy that he's not going to be chasing any stragglers. 

It's a good day, overall, once he concentrates on work instead of Steve. His brain really, really wants to focus on Steve, though. How good he smells, the shape of his body, the color of his eyes. He's just packing up to leave when one of the developers, a soft-spoken man named Bruce, comes to his desk.

"Hey, Bruce," says Bucky, smiling. "What's up?"

"The delivery person is here with dinner, but they want you to come pay for it."

"Oh," says Bucky. "I asked him to charge the company account. Well, okay, no worries. I'll take care of it."

He goes to the front entrance with Bruce, where the delivery person is waiting, and sends Bruce back to the dev pit with the food while he sorts out the payment. 

"It's coming up declined," says the delivery guy, for the third time. 

Bucky's not freaking out, exactly, but he's definitely not _calm_. He literally used the card earlier today. How could it suddenly be declined? "Okay," he says. "Take this one. I'll get this sorted out before the next time we order from you." He hands over his personal credit card, because he doesn't know what else to do, and tries not to flinch as the total comes up on the card reader. 

He breathes out a sigh of relief when it's approved, giving the delivery guy a tight smile as he turns right around and heads back to his desk. Instead of bothering Natasha with this, he decides to just deal with it himself. He'll call the 1-800 number and figure this out. He has a sheet around here with all the account information on it. It's going to be fine. 

And it is fine. It takes three solid hours for it to become fine, but Bucky _does_ resolve the issue. 

It's also almost nine o'clock, now. Fuck.

Groaning to himself, he logs off his computer and shuts off the monitors, grabbing his coat and his bag and hurrying toward the elevator. God, he hates traveling after dark like this. He knows he always acts like Becca's making a big deal out of nothing, and she mostly _is_ , but that doesn't change the fact that he doesn't like it. He climbs onto the elevator and the doors are just about to close when someone calls out, "Hold that, please!"

So Bucky _does_ , by some miracle pressing the right button on the panel, the doors sliding wide again to reveal...Steve. Bucky's heart skips a beat. 

Steve seems shocked to see him too, coming to a stop inside the elevator with a frown. "Bucky? What are you still doing here?"

Bucky's cheeks burn. "I, um…. Well, there was a problem with the credit card? For the food. But I sorted it out."

"What kind of problem?" asks Steve, his brow furrowed as he reaches out to press the button for the ground floor. 

"It was declined when I tried to pay for dinner," says Bucky, shrugging stiffly. "I just used my own card and then called the company, but they had me on hold for a really long time, and then—"

"You paid for hundreds of dollars worth of food with your personal credit card?" Steve interrupts. Both eyebrows have shot up.

"I'll just expense it," says Bucky quickly. "It's okay. It won't happen again, and the guy ended up giving me an extension to call that will give me a direct line to a supervisor, which apparently I should have had anyway with the kind of account we have but I guess no one ever wrote it down."

Steve huffs. "I'm sure you took care of it, but you shouldn't have had to do that."

Standing in an elevator with Steve Rogers is almost worse than being alone with him in his office. God, he smells incredible. Like Christmas morning. He's—

"Bucky?"

"Hm?" Bucky blinks. Steve is holding the door open for him. "Oh. Sorry. I'm...tired."

"You okay to drive home?" asks Steve as they exit into the lobby.

"Oh. I don't drive. I'm going to walk to the train."

A brief frown flits across Steve's brow before it smooths out. He clears his throat. "I could...give you a ride, if you want? So you don't have to take the train?"

Bucky immediately shakes his head. "I couldn't impose. It's fine, I—"

"It's not an imposition. It's the least I could do after you got stuck here so late over something you shouldn't have had to do." Steve looks genuinely concerned. 

Normally, Bucky would say no, flat out. He knows what this is. If he were an Alpha, or even a Beta, he doubts Steve would offer. His sisters do this kind of thing to him all the time, except at least Steve is trying to be subtle about it. 

The truth is, though, that he is tired, and he doesn't want the added stress of being on the subway alone this late. With a sigh, he says, "If you're sure..."

Steve looks visibly relieved. "I'm sure. You live nearby? It's okay if not, if you're in Manhattan, I can still—"

"I'm from Brooklyn, too."

"Yeah? Thought you sounded like it." Steve smiles, gesturing toward the doors to the parking ramp. "C'mon, I've actually got my car here today, instead of my motorcycle."

Of course Steve has a motorcycle. That’s not hot at all. 

With the image of Steve astride a bike in leathers lodged in his head, Bucky follows, heart hammering the whole way. 

Steve leads the way, his car parked in the space just next to the door, a little plaque on the wall that marks it with his name and title. An assigned space. Steve hits the button, the car giving a beep as the doors unlock. "Hop in."

Occupying consecutively smaller spaces with Steve Rogers is extremely hard on his nose. With Bucky in the passenger seat next to Steve, and both doors shut, Bucky's nose fills with that delectable scent. His _mouth_ actually waters, which is the most embarrassing reaction he's had thus far. Steve starts the engine and the air kicks on, which will hopefully help, but Bucky has to fumble his seat belt three times to get it in. 

"Pop your address in the GPS," says Steve, plugging his phone into the mount on the dashboard. 

Bucky does, pressing _Start_. He hopes it isn't too out of the way, but the GPS is only estimating a fifteen minute drive, at least. 

"Park Slope, huh?" says Steve. "I'm not too far, over in Red Hook."

Bucky's face warms for no good reason. Sure, Park Slope can be a little pricey for living on his own, but he found the tiniest one-bedroom known to man and he's really good at budgeting. Still, as much as he insists to Becca that he won't accept any financial assistance, he knows he definitely wouldn't be able to afford his place without help from his mom. 

After college, when he first started his old job, he was desperate to move out on his own, really and truly. He'd lived in the Omega-only dorms all through college, but usually stayed with Becca and Sharon when he was on break, taking up their guest bedroom full time once he graduated. It was stifling. Becca's overprotective, hypercritical tendencies felt like a weight he just couldn't bear anymore. 

Except every apartment he found that he could reasonably afford on his new salary was absolutely unacceptable to Becca (and the rest of his family by extension, who always deferred to her opinion). _That's too far away. That's too filthy. That's a terrible neighborhood. There are too many Alphas in that building. You have to live in a building with a doorman. That's too far away from the subway._ Then, finally, he found the apartment he's in now. Tiny, yes, but clean, in a neighborhood Becca deemed acceptable, checking off every requirement she demanded of it.

The only problem? It was about $750 over budget and _still_ the cheapest "acceptable" place he could find. He'd called his mother in tears, hiding in the bathroom at a library where he hoped no one would overhear. 

_"I'm never going to get out on my own!"_

_"Jamie," she sighed. "Come on, now, it's not all that bad."_

_"Y-yes it is! All I want is a little bit of freedom, but she wants me under her thumb! She treats me like a b-baby."_

_"You know there's a trust for all you kids. Why don't you just use that to help you out?"_

_"She'd know. She'd use it as a reason why I can't take care of myself!" He sounded hysterical and he knew it, but it was all so unfair._

_Clucking her tongue, his mother sighed again. "Alright, alright, let's make a deal, huh? I'll help you out. I'll write a check directly to your landlord, every month, from my personal account. She'll never have to know. She's too protective of you anyway. I think it will be good for both of you for you to move out."_

So, she'd indulged him, and he couldn't help but give in, because she's his _mom_ , and he's her youngest child, the only Omega in the family, and her love never feels stifling the way it can often feel from his sisters. Well, from Becca, in particular. 

Now, he skates by on a fictional story about finding a rent-controlled building and the only moral landlord in Brooklyn. "Um, yeah," he says, when he realizes he actually needs to _reply_ to Steve. "My oldest sister is in Flatbush and my other two sisters live in Kensington near the clinic they, um, work at." He doesn't really want to get into the fact that his family owns their own medical practice.

"No shit? Me and my ma used to live in Flatbush, too, when I was a kid," says Steve, grinning as they pull up to the gate and he leans out to swipe his badge to let them out. "She lives over on Long Island now, on the North Shore, in Stony Brook. So, you got a big family, then?"

"Yeah, I guess? My parents retired and moved down to Florida, so I don't see them as much anymore, but I'm the youngest of four so my sisters are always in my business. Becca is the eldest and she's married and has kids. Then there's Ronnie and Amanda. We get together a lot, although I think it's mostly so they can have an excuse to check on me," he huffs. 

"They overprotective?" asks Steve knowingly, glancing at him before he turns back to the road, pulling out onto the street. 

"Yeah," admits Bucky, cheeks warm. He's not sure why he's giving Steve so much detail. He usually doesn't like to share so much with strangers, and especially not his boss, but Steve's scent is wrapping around him and he feels safe and protected. "I'm the only Omega in my whole family."

Steve gives a low whistle. "That must be hard."

Bucky fidgets with his bag, shrugging one shoulder. "It's alright. Just—so, when Becca was a freshman in college, something happened to one of her best friends, an Omega, and so Becca got kind of...intense, about keeping me safe. It's not like they're traditionalists or anything."

Steve nods along, turning on the windshield wipers when it starts to drizzle. Bucky's glad he's not out in this. "That's a shame about your sister's friend, I'm real sorry to hear it. Families are tricky, no matter what, too. It's gotta be hard on you that she focuses on your designation so much."

Bucky's eyes feel hot. He needs to change the subject because unexpected kindness and understanding is not what he anticipated. "Thanks," he croaks, clearing his throat. "Um, anyway, I...really like the job so far. Is doing this always what you wanted?"

"What? Owning a tech company?" Steve laughs, shaking his head. "No. Total fluke. I'm an artist, always thought I'd be living the starving artist life, too. Tony's kind of a force of nature, though. Meeting him in college changed all that."

Bucky is gripped by momentary panic. 

He's been here for a week, and he's feeling pretty good about his handle on the _office_ , but he suddenly realizes that if asked, he could not describe what the company's software even _is_. None of the onboarding materials really touched on it. He knows that the company was founded by Tony Stark and Steve Rogers. He knows that their product is software of some kind. There is a development team, after all. A sales team, which means that there are customers. A marketing team, to help the sales team generate leads and sell it. The software itself? His brain is a black hole.

All of his research about the company focused on work culture and former/current employee reviews.

"You met in college?" he echoes, because he can't think of anything else to say that won’t dig him into a hole. He's pretty sure that's not something he should already know. He read all the training materials and that fact wasn't in there. 

"Yep," says Steve. "I complained constantly about the software I had to use in my design class. Things kind of snowballed from there."

"Wow," says Bucky. God, he's an idiot. He feels _lightheaded_. Sensory input from his nose dominates his thoughts. Is that cinnamon? Nutmeg? Steamed milk with the lightest touch of blackberry, maybe. "You make a great team."

Steve laughs, warm and pleased. "I'm proud of what we've accomplished."

"It seems like you should be," says Bucky. 

"Thanks," murmurs Steve, and thankfully Bucky is saved from any replies because they pull down a familiar street and Steve comes to a stop. "I think we're here."

"Oh, we are," says Bucky, blinking out the window. How did that happen? It feels like it's been no time at all. Desperately trying to keep himself from shaking, Bucky reaches for the door handle and pops it open. "Thanks again for the ride. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Not a problem. Have a good night."

Bucky gets out of the car, closing the door behind him and jogging up the steps to the door. He notices that Steve doesn't pull away until he's safely in the building, door shut behind him. 

God. Bucky likes him _so much_ and he doesn't know what to _do_ about that.

Drained, he heads up to his apartment and gets cleaned up, changing into PJs and flinging himself into bed. 

This is fine. He just needs to avoid Steve at work and then he won't go all scent-stupid every time he's around him. He can be a professional.

Which, honestly, is what he _tries_ to do. He does. He definitely makes an attempt. 

Except for how he finds himself doing the exact opposite.

It should be easy to avoid Steve. Their paths don't really cross, and if Steve does need something from him, their interactions can be completed over slack or email. Steve is a very busy man and Bucky is honestly pretty busy himself. If Steve needs office supplies, or lunch catered, all he needs to do is shoot Bucky a message. 

So why does Bucky keep creating excuses to see him in person? It's sabotage. Bucky doesn't even _register_ that he's doing it. 

Things Bucky finds himself doing include:  
\- Taking the long way back to his desk when he gets up for coffee   
\- Using the bathrooms further away from his desk but closer to Steve's office  
\- Delivering mail / supplies / lunch to Steve personally   
\- Lingering in meeting rooms that Steve has recently vacated to take deep, lingering breaths of his scent

It's. Bad. Bucky is losing his damn _mind_. 

Luckily, he gets a distraction the following Monday in the form of his new boss. 

After several delays, Miss Potts is finally back from California, and Bucky has a one hour meeting with her at 9 AM. 

Too bad that her office is located adjacent to Steve's office.

When he arrives, Bucky immediately notices that Steve's door is open. He can't help but glance in, which is a mistake because he catches Steve's eyes. Steve grins, waving at him. Like a fucking cartoon character floating through the air toward a delicious smelling meal, he finds himself standing in Steve's doorway. "Hey, Steve."

"Hey, Buck. How was your weekend?"

"Good," says Bucky, licking his lips. "I mean, it was nice. I went to a movie. You?"

"Not bad. You here to meet with Pepper?"

"Uh huh. Hope she likes me."

Steve's blue eyes are so bright, Bucky thinks they might be a hazard. "I'm sure she will."

"Well," says Bucky, head now swimming pleasantly from being so close to Steve. He points over his shoulder with his thumb. "I should go."

"Have fun."

Bucky nods, turning to Pepper's office, though all he can think about now is the way Steve lit up when he saw him. 

Despite his distraction, his meeting with Pepper goes well. She opens the door and ushers him in as soon as he knocks. "Come in, come in! I really must apologize, Bucky, it's taken so long for us to sit down together. I've heard nothing but glowing praise from the whole office, though. How are you finding things?"

Glowing praise? From the _whole_ office?

Bucky's glad the chair is right there, because the rush of self-conscious embarrassment weakens his knees and he sits down heavily. Pepper gives him a warm, expectant smile. Still swimming in the fog of Steve's scent, Bucky tries to kickstart his brain. "Good," he manages to say, returning Pepper's smile. "Really good. Natasha in particular has been so supportive and helpful. But really, everyone has been incredible, making me feel so welcome, answering all my questions, and showing me around."

"That's wonderful," says Pepper. "We're just so glad to have you, Bucky. While it's unfortunate I couldn't hire you directly and mentor you myself, I knew I was putting you in good hands. I do want to touch base about what you can expect from me. You've already been through a bit of a trial by fire, and proven yourself more than capable, so I'm sure it won't surprise you to learn I'm not planning on micromanaging you. I want someone that can work independently. Now, that isn't to say I don't intend to give you support, or that you shouldn't reach out if you need anything. I'm going to be booking a meeting for us every Monday before lunch as an informal one on one. We'll go through your week at a glance, you can raise concerns, and I can help you with anything that's blocking you."

"That sounds great," says Bucky, his hands clammy as he wipes them surreptitiously on his thighs. "Thank you."

"Thank _you_ ," says Pepper. "The kitchen is clean and full, all the mail has been delivered, the printer room is stocked, and all our bills have been paid. When I left, this place was a mess, and I've returned to a beautifully organised oasis."

"Oh," says Bucky, laughing nervously. "Wow, that's...thank you. Wow."

"Now, I know there are some...strong personalities in the office. Nobody's given you any trouble?"

"Not since I restocked the cookies," Bucky quips.

Pepper laughs, the sound smooth and melodic. She's like an angelic goddess with strawberry blond hair and perfect cheekbones. "Well, just know that I have an open door policy and if and when I'm not in the office, I want you to feel free to email me. I will get back to you by end of business day on anything routine and within an hour or two if it's urgent. Our employees are valued here and that's not just lip service."

Bucky shakes his head. "It doesn't seem like it is. I was really pleased to help arrange meals for the developers' families."

"Oh, yes, that's something we started fairly early on,” Pepper says smoothly. “I hope you've had a chance to go over the benefits package and the tiered stock options. It's been important to us that our company isn't one in which the CEOs make all the money and the staff don't even have a living wage. You can expect regular raises and seasonal leaves are 100% covered." 

Bucky did look at all that, but it was all a little overwhelming. Honestly, he was going to work up the courage to ask one of his sisters to review everything with him, eventually. Becca always helps him with filing his taxes, too.

"Thanks, it's really nice to hear how committed the company is," says Bucky, shifting nervously. He's not sure what else he's supposed to say. "Um, I did have one question."

"Let's see if I've got an answer." Pepper nods.

"Well, I know there's a specific list of preapproved restaurants for catering, and...Natasha mentioned it was kind of a thing, getting more approved? But some of the staff have been asking if we can add some different types of food. Do you think I could put together a list of suggestions and have it run past Steve and Tony?"

"The preapproved list, yes, of course. Never let it be said that otherwise mature adults can't regress to their days living in a dorm over pizza preferences." Pepper rolls her eyes. "Yes, you can gather a list. I'll see what I can do."

"Okay, thanks. Um, do you want to go over what's coming up for the week now, or—"

"That would be perfect."

By the time Bucky leaves, he feels even more sure about his job than before. Pepper only had good things to say about his process and the only feedback she gave were helpful tips. It's almost enough to distract him from his horrible crush.

Almost. 

For about ten minutes after the meeting, Bucky doesn't think about Steve, or Steve's shoulders, or his blue eyes, or his truly staggering scent. He goes back to his desk, emboldened by Pepper's confidence and approval, and he sifts through his emails. 

Then his nose fills with warmth and holiday cheer, and he looks up to find Steve standing at his desk.

"Hi," chokes Bucky. 

"Hey there," says Steve. "Everything good with Pepper?"

"Amazing," says Bucky, staring helplessly into Steve's eyes. "She's really great. So supportive."

"Good," says Steve. He's smiling. He's gorgeous when he smiles. He's gorgeous all the time, but he's especially gorgeous when he smiles. "Glad it went well. I didn't think it wouldn't, but you seem relieved."

Heat floods Bucky's cheeks. "I just want to make sure I'm meeting expectations."

"I can't imagine a situation in which you wouldn't," says Steve, his tone so sincere it makes Bucky's heart ache. "You're a dream come true."

"Thanks," croaks Bucky, mortified that his voice is barely a whisper. He clears his throat and tries again. "Thank you. I'm really glad to be here."

Steve nods, tapping his desk. "Well, I won't distract you. Keep up the good work."

He strides away, heading over to the nearby pod of desks that marketing occupies. Bucky lets out a breath and has to fight from laying his head on the desk. God this is _dire_. 

Like it or not, Bucky has a debilitating crush on his boss. On his _boss's_ boss. 

Every time he's around Steve, he's so kind, so warm and pleasant, but also professional and respectful. He's gorgeous and thoughtful and quick with praise. And then there's his scent. Bucky doesn't understand why half the office doesn't just follow him around.

Whatever, it doesn't matter. Bucky can't do anything about any of this, and even if he _could_ , he's sure it doesn't matter. While Steve's scent doesn't carry the hallmarks of someone who is mated, Bucky's sure he has his pick of any partner, regardless of designation. 

Telling himself that mostly works, too. 

For almost a whole month—during which he lights up every time he sees Steve, finds himself making the same pathetic excuses every day to interact with him, and feels breathless when Steve comes to his desk—Bucky just deals with it. 

As it turns out, the office does have a gossip chain, several in fact, and somehow Bucky ends up privy to them all. He hears all about how Danny from sales saw Steve out at the bar with Julie, an Omega from development. And Barb from accounting saw him with Simon, a beta from marketing the following week. Then Lita from customer success saw him on two different occasions with two more Omegas, but neither of those were employees. That's not to mention the absolute fit Darcy from marketing had when she supposedly saw him with another Alpha just last night, again, a stranger. Strangely, they all seemed offended at the idea of Steve fooling around with people they didn't know.

So, Steve gets around. Bully for him, really, but Bucky can't help but feel rejected even though he hasn’t actually tried to flirt with Steve. Bucky has read the company handbook front to back, twice and he's well aware that dating is allowed between staff, so long as forms are filed with HR and neither of the individuals in question has supervisory power over the other. If one of them does or ever potentially could, then steps have to be taken to assure there is no possible coercion and that the leader in question no longer has hiring, firing, or review power over the other party. Even then, there's a strict, zero-tolerance policy for harassment and unwanted overtures—management is prohibited from initiating any romantic or sexual contact with subordinate staff.

Steve is very professional and respectful, and there is no way that Bucky will _ever_ be the one to initiate...anything. God, the mortification of even the possibility of being rejected—

Anyway, Steve's probably not interested or attracted to him. It's not like he ever goes completely loopy around _Bucky's_ scent.

Which is fine. That's exactly how Bucky wants it to be, because he _cannot_ get involved with the cofounder of the company. Bucky is just the office manager. _And_ he's still incredibly new. If he compromises his job here, he'll be totally screwed. His previous manager likely won’t give him a reference after he quit on the spot, so this job _has_ to work out. 

The people that Steve _is_ seen with probably know him well, or....asked him out, or... Or he's just using his privileged position to sleep with hot people around the office.

Which doesn't sound like Steve at all, but it seems like every week he's with someone new. Still, it's clearly not frowned upon. He's well-liked, and none of the gossip that Bucky hears is remotely negative. Not even a whisper of disrespect for Steve as a boss or person. It's observational of his activities, but the tone isn't disparaging. He's genuinely well-loved. Almost _revered_. 

Maybe everyone _does_ have a crush on him. 

Still. Bucky's days go by much as they have been for the last six weeks, only now he's comfortable and confident in his role, and he's got the office running so smoothly that he's seen a notable morale improvement. It's good. Everything is going really, really well. 

And then Bucky, of course, fucks it all up.

"Hey, you coming out for drinks tonight?" asks Clint.

It's Friday, and Bucky just closed his laptop and stood up. Bucky pauses with his jacket in hand. "Out for drinks?" he echoes.

He's noticed that people here _do_ that a lot. It was never a thing at his old workplace. Nobody hung out outside of work. Bucky didn't consider any of his old coworkers _friends_ , but there are tons of little cliques of people at Stark & Rogers that seem to hang out outside of work hours. So many people have asked Bucky for his Instagram account. 

"Yeah," says Clint. "There's a bar down the street."

Bucky hesitates. "Are you sure?"

"That there's a bar down the street?" Clint snorts. "Yeah. We go there a lot."

Bucky's face heats up. "No, I... Are you sure you want me to come?"

Clint gives him an odd look. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be sure? Bucky, if you go out with us, I will be the coolest person here for convincing you to join for once."

Bucky blinks. "You will?"

"Yes. Please come." It's the most sincere he's ever seen Clint be in the entire time he's worked here. 

"Um, well...okay?" Bucky grins. "Are you leaving now?"

"Yeah, in like two minutes. Just need to hit send on an email. If you wait for me, I can walk with you."

Bucky nods and takes his phone out to text his sister. He doesn't want her to check on him tonight. 

**Bucky** : hey, going out to dinner with friends from work. I'll text you when I'm home.  
 **Becca** : who are the friends?

Bucky sighs, biting his lip. He makes the executive decision to leave out the finer details.

 **Bucky** : Clint and Natasha. Both Betas.  
 **Becca** : alright. have fun.

Bucky lets out a breath as Clint approaches. "C'mon. Let's bounce."

The walk to the bar is short. It really is right down the block. When they arrive, there's already a big group of tables in the back with several people Bucky recognizes from the office. "Hey! You made it! Bucky, so glad you could come!"

Bucky is quickly overwhelmed, smiling at everyone, trying to remember the names of colleagues that he doesn't interact with on a daily basis. Then he hears someone say, "Steve's coming right? I know he's on seasonal leave next week and he owes me a beer!"

He freezes, his own cider halfway to his lips, and looks at Clint. "Management comes to these?"

"Yeah, every once in a while. They're usually good for a couple of free rounds, too."

Oh, _god_.

Bucky compulsively takes a big gulp of his drink, which, on an empty stomach, is truly not a great idea. He needs to order some food. Is anyone else going to order food? They can't just....drink, right? 

Just as he's about to spiral himself into an anxiety attack, Clint says, "Who wants chicken wings?" and a cheer goes up from all the tables. 

God. Okay. Chicken wings. He can order other stuff, too, if they're getting food. And then, if Steve shows up, he'll just...be normal. He will eat and drink like a normal person, and he will converse with his coworkers (only when directly addressed), and he will call a Lyft to take him home in two hours. 

Bucky lets out a slow breath and sips cautiously at his cider. He needs water, too. 

By the time Steve _does_ show up—nearly 45 minutes later, meaning Bucky's had time to calm down and lull himself into a false sense of security—they've ordered what feels like hundreds of chicken wings. Bucky's got an order of mozzarella sticks to himself that he's protecting with his life and he's on his second pint of cider. 

Bucky is innocently dunking a mozzarella stick into marinara sauce when, even over the smell of bodies and booze and greasy fried food, his nose is _assaulted_ with the scent of a freshly-made spiced latte. He jerks his head up, zeroing in on Steve as he comes in the door of the bar. 

"Oh, _no_ ," he mumbles.

Clint's head swivels towards him like a satellite dish. "What's up?"

"Steve's here," he whines, then claps a hand over his mouth. 

Clint stares at him. Then he leans right in and stage whispers, "You into Steve, Barnes?"

"Pffshaw," he sputters. " _No_. I am not." He takes another drink of his cider and realizes it's empty. 

Clint's mouth quirks in a small smile, but he shrugs. "Whatever you say."

"I need another drink. Don't let anyone touch my mozzarella sticks!" he commands, hopping off the stool and going to the bar. 

Clint salutes him and Bucky breathes out slowly, refusing to look toward where Steve is making his way to their group. He darts across the room to the bar and leans up against it, waiting for the bartender's attention. He'll have one more drink and then he'll leave. 

Delicious baked goods fill his nose and he has to hold in a groan as a stool moves next to him and suddenly Steve is right there, waving down the bartender with ease. "I'll have a corona and a round of drinks for that rowdy group back there, and—" he gestures at Bucky, "whatever he was about to order."

Bucky's cheeks go red. "Um, just another cider, please."

The bartender nods and as she turns away to start filling the order, Steve says, "Hey, having fun?"

Bucky takes a breath to answer in a socially appropriate manner and his mouth starts watering. Steve smells _heavenly_. God, he's almost in rut, isn't he? That's what everyone was saying, that he's on seasonal leave next week. Bucky swallows back a whimper. "Yeah, it's—it's great. Everyone's great."

Steve grins. "They are, aren't they? It's a good group."

Bucky nods eagerly, because he doesn't think he can string together a proper sentence, and wordless agreement reduces the chance of him embarrassing himself. 

Steve's just so....big. He's _big_. His shoulders are just _so broad_ as he leans against the bar, he looks solid and warm and _cozy_ , like a big sweater that Bucky wants to wrap around his body. He wants to go to sleep on him, while a fire roars nearby—

"Bucky?"

"Hm?"

"I asked if you have any plans for the weekend." Steve is looking at him encouragingly. 

Oh, no. Not words. Steve wants him to speak. Fuck.

"Um," he says, off to a _great_ start. "Uh, um, not really. Just....cleaning, probably."

 _Jesus Christ_. Why is he like this? Could he _be_ more boring?

The bartender serves him and Steve, and then head back towards the group with the tray. Thank god. He can sit next to Clint again and melt under the table and into the floor. "Sometimes it's nice to have a quiet weekend to yourself," says Steve reasonably. "Even if you're just doing chores and errands."

"Uh huh," squeaks Bucky. He puts his drink down on the table and says, "Excuse me!" before he darts away to escape into the bathroom.

He takes several steadying breaths, splashing cold water on his face and trying to remind himself that once upon a time, he knew how to function like a normal human person in the world. He can do this. He can walk out there, finish his last cider, call his ride, and live to pine another day. 

He looks in the mirror, frowning at the high splotches of red in his cheeks and the sweat at his brow. Ugh. So pathetic. 

Washing his hands, he dries them off and grabs a couple more paper towels because touching the door handle after just washing his hands is gross. He yanks it open and just barely manages to catch it with his foot as he turns to throw the extra paper towels away, stumbling forward in a rush—

Only to crash right into a firm, warm body that smells like the perfect fall candle, sweet and rich and decadent. Hands come up to steady him but it's too late. Bucky's plastered against the wall of muscle that is Steve's chest, already so close the scent is seeping into his pores and wrapping around him. Bucky lets out a groan, turning his face into Steve's neck and dragging his nose from collar to jaw, right over the strongest scent gland just below his ear while he pants open-mouthed and desperate.

Bucky clutches helplessly at Steve's hips, fingers fluttering against his sides in overwhelmed, overstimulated desire. The only thing he wants to do is breathe him in, taking big, gulping inhalations of Steve's delicious scent, filling his lungs over and over again, little breathless whines falling from his mouth every time he lets it out again. 

Until his last brain cell splutters back to life and Bucky remembers where he is, who he's with, and what he's doing.

His eyes snap open and he staggers backwards, hitting the closed door behind him. He gapes at Steve, horror washing down his spine like ice. "Oh, god," he whispers, knees weak. 

"Hey," says Steve. His voice, somehow, comes out calm and steady, wrapping warmly around Bucky's cold fear. His expression scrunches up in gentle concern and he drags a hand through his hair. "It’s okay, Bucky. You’ve had a few, huh? Why don’t you call a cab to take you home? We can talk about this when I’m back from seasonal leave."

 _Fuck_. Talk about this. Talk about it. Talk about how Bucky just _assaulted_ Steve, ignored his boundaries and scented him without permission—

Bucky nods wordlessly. It's all he can do. He fucked up _so_ badly. Oh, _god_.

"Do you need me to call a ride for you?" Steve asks gently. 

"No," Bucky chokes. "I got it. Thanks. I'll—" He stumbles past Steve and avoids his eyes. "My phone, I'll. Thank you. I'm sorry. Bye!"

By some miracle, he makes it back to the table, digging his phone out of his pocket and calling a Lyft. Steve still hasn't reappeared. Clint expresses concern, but Bucky waves him off, shows him the app, and gets his jacket on.

When he's leaving, pushing through the front door as he sees the dot of his ride approaching, he glances back to catch Steve finally returning to the table. Their eyes lock for a moment, an intense expression on Steve's face until he smiles and waves at Bucky. Bucky can only turn away in horror and scramble into his Lyft. 

He makes it home in one piece, texting Becca when he's in the house and then flinging himself into his bed. He manages to eventually get to sleep, despite the memory of pressing himself up against Steve—dragging his nose over his _scent gland_ , huffing his breath against his skin—playing over and over again in his mind. 

In the morning, he wakes up, eats breakfast, and has a good cry about the state of his life and how badly he's fucked everything up. Then he cleans his tiny apartment from top to bottom and solemnly makes the decision to resign on Monday. 

There's no other choice. He can't do what he did and keep working there. He can't force Steve to have to deal with his continued presence. 

Besides, he knows the office has a zero-tolerance policy for harassment of any kind. 

Anxiously chewing his lower lip, Bucky opens his laptop to draft a letter of resignation and then he checks his banking app to see how much he’s managed to save so far and how long he can survive without admitting to his family that he needs to come home. 

Maybe, if he finds a job relatively quickly, he won’t have to tell them at all—he could temp, to build some references back up. He might also be able to ask his mom to lend him a little more money. She _might_ be willing to keep it from everyone, for a little while.

It is, all in all, a miserable weekend.

By Sunday night, Bucky has basically made himself sick with anxiety. He does _try_ to eat dinner, but he's so nauseated that he can't keep it down. He barely sleeps that night, and in the morning, he gets out of bed, goes to the bathroom, and throws up. 

He's got a game plan, though. Maybe once it's over with, and he's been appropriately punished for his transgression, he can stop feeling so sick. Bucky gets to work early, prints out his resignation letter, and goes directly to Natasha's office. 

Pepper is out today, which is a relief. Bucky doesn't think he'd be able to look her in the eye. 

Natasha's office door is open, so Bucky knocks on the door frame, and she looks up in surprise, her nose immediately wrinkling. 

"Bucky?" she asks. "Are you okay?"

Bucky steps inside and closes the door behind him. He goes to Natasha's desk and puts the letter down in front of her. 

"I need to report an incident of sexual harassment," he whispers. "And also resign."

Natasha's eyebrows shoot up. "Excuse me? What happened? Are you okay, did someone in the office touch you?"

"No," croaks Bucky, eyes burning. "I scented someone without their permission on Friday night. I know there's a strong policy against sexual harassment, it's one of the reasons I _decided_ to work here. I wanted to report it myself." He wipes his clammy palms on his thighs and takes in a shuddering breath. He feels _sick_ and so, so cold. 

"Okay," Natasha says slowly. "Can you tell me who you scented?"

Horrible shame floods his body. "Mr. Rogers."

"...You mean Steve?"

"Yes," he whispers. "And he said we'd talk about it after he's back from leave, but I don't want to make him have to—I can't believe I did that, and—"

Natasha takes in a deep, slow breath through her mouth. Bucky's cheeks go pink. He knows Omegas make an awful stink when they're distressed. Evolutionary response to needing protection, even if they don't need it now. "While I want to believe this is just a misunderstanding because Steve did not reach out to me about any problems, it's possible he was otherwise occupied because of his seasonal leave. And you're right. We have a zero-tolerance stance on these issues. Until I can clarify this with Steve, all I have to go on is your word. So here's what we're going to do. You are going to work from home for the rest of the week. Go to your desk, get what you need, and go home. Do you have a car? Someone who can give you a ride?"

Bucky takes a breath, trying to hold back miserable tears. "My sister." He can lie. He can pretend he's sick, has a migraine, or something.

"Good, call her. I think that's probably best. And then next Monday, when Steve is back, you'll come into the office, and we'll sit down and figure this out."

Bucky nods, standing up and heading to his desk. He’s grateful there are very few people here this early on a Monday morning. He pulls out his phone and calls Becca, knowing there’s no way she won’t know about it immediately if he calls his other sisters since they all share an office. 

She picks up on the second ring as he starts packing to his computer. “What’s wrong?”

He bites back his knee jerk annoyance because there _is_ something wrong. “Migraine. They said I could work from home. I don’t feel good. Will you come get me?”

Becca’s voice is immediately sympathetic. “Of course, I can be there in ten, baby. My first appointment isn’t for another hour.”

Bucky breathes out a sigh of relief, grateful that she’s not being overbearing about it. “Okay, text me when you’re close and I’ll meet you at the sidewalk.”

“Okay, Jamie, see you soon.”

Bucky heads for the elevator. He’d rather wait in the lobby, just in case Becca gets any funny ideas about coming in to get him. He doesn’t need any more embarrassment. 

She texts, though, and Bucky is able to slip out to the SUV and get in without incident. She’s even good about not pushing it when he turns down her offer to come to the house instead of his apartment. He thinks he might be entirely off the hook until she says, “Get some sleep and I’ll come over after work and check on you, bring you some dinner.”

He physically wilts in his seat. He doesn't _want_ to be babied. First of all, he doesn't deserve it, and second of all, he can cook for himself! Or order food! 

Before he gives into the instinct to argue, though, he reconsiders. If he lets Becca baby him now, there's less of a chance of her getting suspicious. He doesn't want her to know he'll be working from home all week, so he needs to lean into being sick, and then he'll pretend to go back to work tomorrow, and everything will be fine. 

"Okay," he says, leaning in for her to kiss his cheek. "See you later."

She honks when he gets to the door, and he turns and waves before going inside. He wishes he _could_ just go to sleep, but when he gets into his apartment, he sets up his laptop and logs back on, because he has to _work_. Somehow, he has to work from home for this entire week, and remain present and professional, even though he wants to disappear into the woods to live the rest of his life as a reclusive hermit. 

He wishes Natasha had just accepted his resignation. This feels like being stuck in purgatory, waiting to be fired until _next_ week when Steve can corroborate his story. 

It sucks. Everything sucks. Not only is he being punished, his punishment is being extended. 

At least he gets to change into pajamas and work from his bed. He wallows, eating his way through an entire box of Girl Scout cookies while he answers emails and puts in orders and forwards invoices. He tries not to think about what Natasha is going to tell Pepper, or anyone else that asks where Bucky is. 

He does take a nap over lunch, and works through the rest of the afternoon. At four, he signs off and puts away his computer so that Becca doesn't see it, and dozes until she inevitably shows up.

Bucky doesn't have to buzz her up because she has copies of his keys, a concession he grudgingly made when he moved out. She barely taps on his front door to alert him she's here before the key is in the lock and the door swings open. 

"Jamie? Hey, honey, are you awake?" she calls softly. Bucky waves his hand from the couch. 

"I'm right here, Becks."

"Feeling better? Why aren't you in bed?" she asks, walking over to the kitchen counter to set down two large bags. 

Bucky huffs, pushing up from his relocated couch nest. "Because I wanted to be here?" He joins her in the kitchen as she starts to take _so much stuff_ out of the bags. "What's all this?"

"Well, if you're not feeling well, I wanted you to have some things. I thought I could come over and meal prep for you for the week."

"Becca..." he groans. It's kind, it is, but he can take care of himself. "It was just a migraine. I'm going to head back to work tomorrow."

"Oh, no," she shakes her head. "No, I don't think that's a good idea. Your scent is still off and you've been working so hard lately. The way you're smelling, some Alpha is going to swoop in and—"

"And what? Becca, the only Alpha who's swooping in right now is _you_!"

"Jamie," Becca says firmly, a mild edge to her voice. "Please don't talk to me like that. I'm your big sister. I'm responsible for you."

"I am twenty seven years old," Bucky says in the same tone. "I'm not a baby. We're not children anymore."

Becca's expression tightens. "You're still a kid to me. You're just so..." 

Anger swells up inside him, pushing aside the misery he's wallowed in all day. It's amazing how Becca can say just a handful of words to him and wind him up from 0 to 60 in less than five minutes of being here. "Just so _what_?" he demands. 

Becca narrows her eyes and puts down the tupperware container she's holding, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead. "Are you _sure_ you're not sick? Maybe it's not just a migraine. You seem really out of sorts."

"Do you ever even hear yourself?" he says, trying not to whine. "I'm _fine_. I slept and did some work, and—"

"You worked?" she interrupts. "You were supposed to _rest_."

Fuck. He's such an idiot. "I answered some emails!"

"Oh, Jamie. They shouldn't take advantage of you like that. I hate to say it, but you're still so _naive_."

If there's one single thing that makes Bucky lose his _mind_ , it's being called naive. He's not. He knows how the world works. He _knows_ that he's an Omega and people assume things about him based solely on that. He knows that he's not very experienced and that he's been sheltered most of his life, but he is _not_ naive! 

His anger burns so hot and bright that he’s suddenly _exhausted_ before he even opens his mouth to reply. "You're such a jerk, Becca! You can't just come in here and tell me how to live my life and act like I'm a baby. It's not 1955! I don't need an Alpha guardian or chaperone! I could go out right now and find someone and sleep with them if I wanted and just because I choose not to doesn't mean I'm going to get taken advantage of by my perfectly normal and respectable _job_ , which was kind enough to send me home when I—" he cuts himself off, chest heaving with rapid breaths, and Becca stares at him with a half-shocked, half-furious expression. Hunching his shoulders, he quiets his voice again as he finishes, "When I wasn't feeling well. It was my choice to work. And I'm allowed. I'm allowed to make my own choices."

There's an awful moment of heavy silence. 

"I see," Becca says quietly, voice icy. "I'm a jerk." 

Bucky doesn't say anything, because of _course_ that's what she fixated on, and he's not going to _apologize_ ; he's not going to fall all over himself to take it back. He's upset and that’s _valid_ when his other two sisters don't get this kind of intense smothering and scrutiny. 

Face eerily neutral, Becca starts to pack the bags back up again. "Alright. If your choice is to run yourself into the ground, then you're right, you're allowed to do that."

"Don't do that," says Bucky, frustrated. "I'm not an idiot. I'm taking care of myself. Don't belittle me."

This time, Becca is the one to say nothing. She scoops up the shopping bags and doesn't spare Bucky a look as she leaves the kitchen. 

Trailing after her, Bucky's irritation seeps out of him, leaving behind heavy guilt.

"Don't come crying to me when you need actual medical attention," says Becca, and oh, of _course_ Bucky's hurt her pride as a doctor. Bucky really does love his sister, but her status and profession has really shaped the way she views her family, just as much as the things she's witnessed. 

"I won't," says Bucky. "Because I know how to deal with a migraine!"

Becca pauses at the door, turning back to him. "I don't know what's gotten into you, but I won't be spoken to like this. I'm your sister and I've done nothing but love and care for you your whole life. You act as though I do all of this just because you're an Omega, or because you don't date or have a long-term mate, or because you like supposedly traditional Omega activities. But that's not why, Jamie." 

Bucky can't even think of what to say, trembling.

At the door, she stops. "I do it because you're afraid of having a life, Jamie. You’re afraid of taking up space and being noticed, and _I'm_ afraid you'll end up hurt, either by yourself or the first person that bothers to give you the attention you're starving yourself of. You think you moved into this apartment to get out on your own, but all you do is coop yourself up in here and go to work. Last Friday was the first time I have ever heard you mention friends and now you're immediately so worked up after that you've given yourself a migraine and had to go home. So, you should think about that, the next time you want to call me a jerk."

With that, Bucky silenced by her thorough telling off, she leaves.

Bucky can only stare at the door, frozen as he listens to her methodically locking the two deadbolts behind her, despite her anger. All at once, it's too much, and tears overflow and start rolling down his cheeks.

He covers his face with both hands to muffle the sob that tries to rattle out of his chest, and he turns and flees to his room, crawling into bed and burying his face in his pillow. 

There's nothing for it. All the stress and anxiety and guilt has been building up inside him since Friday and it just doesn't matter anymore. He's alone, no one can see or hear him, and so he just gives in and cries. He curls up and sobs like a baby, like the baby he always claims he isn't, hot tears spilling over his cheeks and soaking into the sheets. He lets his emotions overwhelm him in full on wracking sobs, shaking and shuddering until he's snotty, until his throat and face hurt, until the only reason he stops crying at all is because he's exhausted. 

He feels physically terrible afterwards, achy and puffy and practically dehydrated. He lies slumped in bed and stares at the wall, breathing shakily. The heaviness in his chest is gone, at least. Nothing is better, nothing has changed, but he doesn't feel like crying anymore. 

Eventually, he realizes he's hungry. Becca took the food with her when she left, so he gets up and drags himself to the living room to look for his phone. 

He wants mac and cheese. He wants rich and creamy mac and cheese, and he wants a hamburger, and a slice of chocolate cake. 

For someone that is deeply uncertain regarding his continued employment, he shouldn't be spending all this money to Postmates himself extremely specific food items from three different locations, but he doesn't care. He does it anyway, and he eats it all in bed while watching mindless YouTube videos. He doesn't need to take the train tomorrow, so he can sleep in a little before he logs on. 

God. He kind of feels like he’s on house arrest, or in quarantine, or something. He's not allowed to go to work, essentially on probation. His sister is thoroughly pissed at him, and didn't even text him to ask if he ate dinner like she often does when he’s unwell. He doesn't really have friends, per se, the people he was closest to in college having moved away from New York when they graduated and never really finding anyone to befriend at his old job. 

What _is_ there, really? Bucky has only been focusing on work for the last several years. 

He falls asleep like that, dwelling on Becca's sharp, insightful words, and mourning his empty little life.

Tuesday passes slowly, no one making a big deal out of Bucky working from home, thankfully. He doesn't ask Natasha what she said about it, but not even Pepper questions it upon her return on Wednesday. By Wednesday afternoon, he's convinced himself he at least has to go to the grocery store.

He pushes himself out the door holding his reusable bags and walks the couple of blocks to the small bodega that will at least have things like milk and cereal and PB&J supplies. His sisters, notably _not_ Becca, text him, but whatever Becca passed along, they are careful not to mention. 

He begs off when they invite him over and they mostly leave him alone. 

On Thursday, he watches sadly via slack as the entire office celebrates Halloween. Endless pictures get posted of his colleagues in their costumes, of the tables full of candy and treats that _he_ ordered, of the pumpkins each department carves. Bucky loves Halloween. He is truly fucking miserable.

Becca finally texts him in the middle of the afternoon, the first time they’ve talked since Monday.

 **Becca** : Sharon and the kids want to see you for Halloween. We're taking the kids trick-or-treating and then hosting a family dinner afterward. You're welcome to attend if you're not otherwise occupied.

It's so stupidly formal; Bucky is able to push himself back around to annoyance even though he's spent the whole week stewing on both her words and his horrible fuck up with Steve. 

**Bucky** : I am not otherwise occupied but I don't want to come over if it's going to be awkward.  
 **Becca** : I'm not going to make it awkward. I'm inviting you to see your nieces and nephew in their costumes and to have dinner with your family, Jamie. Not to continue our fight. The kids would like to see you.  
 **Bucky** : That's not fair! You can't just use them to get around what you said to me.  
 **Becca** : I'm not trying to get around any of what I said. I have no interest in getting around it or taking it back.  
 **Bucky** : Well me either!!  
 **Becca** : Glad we can agree on something. Do you want to come over or not?

Bucky has to get up and pace around for a while, thinking, before he can even figure what he wants or whether he wants to go.

He _does_ , he wants to see Sharon and the kids, and he doesn't want things to remain sour and strained with Becca, but he doesn't think she will want to talk or resolve anything at a family dinner unless she plans on eviscerating him in front of everyone else, too. 

Finally, he sends back a text. 

**Bucky** : I'll be there. Can I bring something?  
 **Becca** : No. Food and drink is taken care of. Can you be there by 5?

It takes Bucky a moment to realize she's asking because she assumes he's at work right now, not moping at home. He sighs. 

**Bucky** : yes, not a problem. see you then.

He huffs out a sigh and throws his phone onto the couch, one arm over his face. Great. Family dinner. He has to pretend that on Monday, he isn't walking into a meeting where it's highly likely that he'll be fired. He has to pretend that he's _been_ at work all week and hasn't been working from home (bed). 

Hopefully he can focus on the kids until they go to bed, and then sit quietly through dinner. He'll just be very careful, and try not to think about his impending doom, and enjoy getting to celebrate Halloween and the parts of dinner that won't make him feel like he's about to die.

He texts Ronnie and arranges for a ride so he doesn't have to worry about the trains making him late, telling her he's going to run home first to change so she doesn't think it's strange he's not at the office. 

As soon as he's in her car, Ronnie fixes him with a look. "Hello, stranger."

He huffs. "Don't start, please. It's been a long week. Becca's promised me no fighting. I just want to see the kids and enjoy dinner. Please?"

Ronnie shrugs, putting the car into drive. "Sure, whatever you want, but it would be nice if the two of you could get over whatever happened."

"As if Becca didn't tell you all about it." He crosses his arms.

"As a matter of fact, she didn't," says Ronnie, turning the radio on low. "She just said you two had an argument and you needed space, but she made it clear it was between you."

"Oh." Bucky didn't realize that. In his head, he made up the narrative that Becca told them all what a hysterical little brat he was, who couldn't be trusted to have a grown up conversation. "Well. Whatever, we're still not talking about it. We agreed it would be a nice family dinner."

"Well, good. I'm starving." Ronnie reaches over, though, and ruffles his hair gently.

Bucky allows it, submitting to the casual scenting. Probably better anyway, it'll hopefully help him concentrate on not letting distressed Omega pollute the air around him. "Do you know what we're having?"

"Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans, and apparently, Sharon is using the last of the fall blackberries she froze to make blackberry cobbler."

Bucky freezes, his mind immediately going to Steve. Oh god. Blackberry cobbler. Bucky guesses that Sharon will serve it with coffee and vanilla ice cream. Bucky's going to die.

It's so stupid. Those scents don't _belong_ to Steve. He doesn't have a monopoly on coffee and dessert. He probably doesn't even smell that way to everyone else. 

Just to Bucky. Because Bucky is _pathetic_ and desperate and so hard up for an Alpha that the first attractive one he finds is a wet dream come to life. 

And _completely_ unattainable. And inappropriate to think about. 

Stop thinking about Steve!

"How's work?" asks Ronnie. "Still love the new job?"

Bucky sinks down into his seat and stares out the window. "It's great," he says sullenly. "I love it."

"So enthusiastic," says Ronnie, laughing. "Okay, okay, I get it. We can sit in silence if you want to prepare yourself for dinner."

"I'm sorry," says Bucky, sighing. He entertains the brief, horrible idea of telling Ronnie what happened, then quickly abandons it. There's no point. Not when he'll need to tell everyone about that eventually when he gets fired tomorrow morning. "I'm just still sore about the fight, I guess."

"I know," says Ronnie. "Becca knows how to get under your skin. Don't worry about it. Sharon will answer the door with the kids, and they'll drag insist you go with them to every door in the neighborhood. They'll make you feel better."

That's exactly what happens, too. 

Sharon greets him with a hug and a kiss, the kids jump all over him, and he admires their costumes, takes a million pictures on his cell phone, and is their official candy-holder as they trudge up and down the block with all the other screaming children.

By the time they get them back home, feed them, and allow them to eat exactly three (3) pieces of candy each, it is well past their bedtime. He helps Sharon put them to bed, giving them kisses and hugs before he heads downstairs. When he approaches the dining room, Ronnie perks up, holding out a glass of wine. "You want?"

"Yes, please," he sighs, nodding his head. He definitely wants a glass of wine to help him stave off the nerves and focus on a nice family dinner. Which they have, all together. He manages to participate in conversation to a reasonable extent, even laughs at one of Becca's jokes. 

At the end of the night, he eats his dessert and has his coffee and doesn't moon too much over Steve, instead effusively complimenting Sharon. He gets up to help clear the bowls and cups with Becca and when they set everything down in the sink, he glances at her as she starts to run the water and add soap. "Becca?"

"Mmm? What is it, Jamie?" she asks, glancing at him with her steady gray eyes, so similar to his own. 

Biting his lip, Bucky says, "I...I don't think I'm ready to talk about it, but can I have a hug?"

Her expression softens and she sighs. "Yes, of course, come here."

He lets himself be pulled in tight, her proprietary scenting a comfort instead of a frustration. He clings to her and forces himself not to cry. His voice still comes out in a rough croak as he says, "I love you, no matter what."

"I love you too, Jamie. Always." She kisses his cheek as she releases him, stepping back. "Now go on, I know Ronnie wanted to get out of here early tonight so she can go to some party and you don't want to keep her."

Bucky nods and slips out, giving everyone else hugs and kisses goodbye as he heads out. The evening with family actually turns out to be a blessing because by the time he gets home, the full stomach and full heart lull him to sleep at a decent hour, free of the sick anxiety that has been plaguing him for days. His family love him and even though he _hates_ that he'll have to disappoint them, he knows they'll have his back when he gets fired. It makes the remaining days before his imminent doom easier.

So with mounting determination, he puts on his best outfit, packs his laptop up, and heads to work bright and early on Monday morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky has a couple of ciders with coworkers. Steve is there and Bucky accidentally runs into him in the bathroom. Steve's scent combined with a slight buzz causes Bucky to temporarily forget himself and he presses his face to Steve's neck and takes several deep breaths--scenting him. Bucky backs off on his own when he regains control of himself and Steve is not upset, simply suggesting Bucky take a Lyft home, that they'll talk about it later. Bucky is convinced he has sexually assaulted Steve and attempts to resign as a result.


	3. Part 3: Steve (don't you wanna dance)

Waking up in the morning after a rut has run its course is always kind of weird. 

Good, usually, but also weird. Ruts make Steve feel invincible, unconcerned about vulnerability. Every deviant little fantasy, every societally-planted impulse, every instinctive urge comes roaring out. Steve loves sex as much as the next person and he's always enjoyed it whether it's casual or helping someone else through a heat or rut, but his _own_ rut is a different beast. 

Heh.

He's pretty choosy about who he invites to help him through his ruts. It has to be someone that he can trust, that won't take all the filthy, needy things he grunts to heart while he's fucking them raw into the nearest surface for the umpeenth time in several days. Coming back to himself after that, the memories hazy but intact, is just bizarre. 

He yawns, stretching in bed, and his rut-partner stirs next to him, lifting his head. "Are you done?" asks Thor, pushing a stray braid out of his face. "My cock is sore."

Steve smiles, scratching lazy at his belly. “So’s mine,” he drawls. He splays out his fingers and toes, a shiver rippling through his body. 

He’s definitely done. His body is pleasantly worn after the truly athletic sex they’ve engaged in, and he is absolutely covered in bitemarks, finger-sized bruises, and the occasional scratch. 

Hooking up with Thor is always a unique experience—the other Alpha is bigger than Steve, which is an indulgent novelty considering Steve is quite tall and broad himself, and he gives as good as he gets. Thor is hardly a consolation prize, but their arrangement is one borne of necessity and friendly affection rather than true compatibility. On the off chance one of them is left without a partner for a rut, then they call each other up. It’s an unspoken agreement that results in enthusiastically aggressive, extremely competitive sex. 

Steve is always sore for days after he takes leave with Thor. 

“I am very hungry,” Thor says meaningfully. 

Steve groans. “Me too. If you want to stick around, I’ll order breakfast.”

“That is kind,” says Thor. “But I was thinking about the pizza in your fridge.”

“Oh,” says Steve. He waves a hand dismissively. “Go for it.”

He allows himself the luxury of rolling around in the rut-drenched scent of his bed. There isn’t a lot of bedding to burrow in, not like the comforting nests of an Omega's heat, but it is deeply satisfying to the Alpha-centers of his brain that like to bask in his own virility. It's absolutely the most ridiculous, self-indulgent thing to do, but he has at least a couple more days to bring himself down from the high.

Speaking of, he wonders what day it is, exactly. His ruts usually last anywhere from four to five days and this one began late Sunday night, which was actually a little early in general. A slow smile spreads across his face as he reaches for his phone. No doubt, early onset was influenced by the cutest little Omega Steve's ever met getting a bit tipsy and a little handsy the Friday night before he went on leave.

A glance at his phone informs him that it's almost nine in the morning the following Saturday. Huh, a longer rut than usual, too. 

Pushing up from the bed, Steve groans his way through the sound of several popping joints as he walks into his bathroom, chuckling at himself. He peeks in the mirror, scratching at several days worth of beard on his cheek and admiring the deep purple bruises on his chest and stomach. "Nice."

He makes quick work of using the toilet and then getting cleaned up in the shower, brushing his teeth and shaving his face. By the time he's finished, wandering out into the kitchen wearing fresh boxers and a t-shirt, Thor is shoving the last piece of pizza in his face. 

"I ordered you more," he says, looking unashamed at leaving Steve momentarily hungry. "And there may still be some protein bars."

“Thanks,” Steve says dryly. “I think I can wait.”

Thor beams at him, clearly revitalized by the food, and strides over to Steve, hooking one big, beefy arm around Steve’s neck and reeling him in. He smacks a kiss directly in the center of Steve’s forehead and then releases him. “Thank you, Steven. I had a very nice time, as always.”

Steve laughs, pulling Thor back in for a quick hug. “Me too. Thanks, pal. You’re a lifesaver.”

Thor winks at him. “It’s my pleasure. You haven’t needed me for a while. I’ll leave you to rest.” He puffs his chest out a little, his own Alpha pride at wearing out his rut-partner bleeding through. “Your exertion is obvious.”

“Oh, please,” says Steve, giving Thor a firm punch on the shoulder. “I bet you could go right out and run a marathon, right?”

“Hmm.” Thor hums. “Definitely not. Some light cardio, though, perhaps. I think I’ll go to the gym.”

“Show off,” huffs Steve. “Get out of here. I have things to do.”

“Other than me?” Thor says lightly, laughing as he ducks away from Steve’s swatting hand and heading for the door. “Call me!”

When he’s left, Steve goes directly to the coffee maker. He’s just finished cleaning it out and setting it to prepare a fresh pot when the pizza arrives, so he ends up lounging in the living room and indulging the whims of a satisfied body, eating pizza and drinking coffee while he watches TV in his underwear. He has nothing scheduled until tomorrow, when he’s meeting Sam for brunch. What he should do is text him to let him know it’s confirmed, since he made the plans pre-rut and wasn’t sure if he’d be fully recovered. 

**Steve** : still on for brunch tomorrow?  
**Sam** : you tell me, champ  
**Steve** : i’m good :)  
**Sam** : congrats.  
**Sam** : see you at Corner Cafe then. 11 don't be late  
**Steve** : i'm never late  
**Sam** : 🙄🙄🙄

Steve laughs to himself and then picks up another slice of pizza. 

He spends the majority of the day just like that, only managing to pick himself off the couch by about five, finally giving in and tossing his dirty sheets in the laundry and changing his bed. Sam will give him a horrified look if he shows up to brunch in the morning after sleeping all night in his rut-stench again. 

In the morning, he showers thoroughly, pulls on a clean sweater and jeans, and heads out to meet up with Sam. Steve is not late, but he is exactly on time, which means that Sam is already waiting for him as a chronically early person. "'Bout time."

"I'm not late!" says Steve, even as he pulls Sam in for a tight hug. 

"Uh huh." Sam glances at his watch. "It's 11:01."

"It was eleven when I walked up!" Steve's grinning, though, and so is Sam. They're seated quickly and they each put in their drink orders, settling in to catch up on each other's lives. 

“How’s Thor?” Sam asks mildly, stirring cream into his coffee. 

“Insufferable,” says Steve. 

“Mmhmm,” murmurs Sam, sipping pointedly at his coffee. “He’s just too perfect, right?”

“He ate all the pizza,” says Steve, shaking his head. 

Sam just looks at him, eyebrows raised. 

“Then he ordered more,” admits Steve, unable to keep up the act. “He’s great. A real pal. If we were remotely compatible on a long-term basis, there might really be a spark, you know?”

“Tragic,” Sam drawls. 

Steve shakes his head mournfully. “I know. You hate to see it.”

“Well,” Sam says primly. “Riley and I wish you well on your search for a life partner.”

“Thank you.” Steve clinks his spoon against his mug noisily to shake off the coffee. “I value your support.”

Sam has been happily married for five years, so Steve makes a considerable effort not to talk about his own ever-changing relationship status unless Sam brings it up first. There are notable exceptions, like Thor, who is a mutual friend, or if Steve has a funny story about a sexual encounter that is sure to make Sam roar with laughter. Sam is always eager to hear about if Steve has managed to embroil himself in some kind of embarrassing situation with a partner. 

For these reasons, as they trade conversation back and forth, he doesn’t bring up the encounter with Bucky on Friday. It feels fragile. Steve is excited by the prospect, obviously, but there’s nothing to report on. All he found out is that Bucky is interested, but that doesn’t mean anything.

Not yet, anyway. 

"So, did you do anything fun for Halloween?" asks Steve, taking a satisfying sip of his coffee.

Sam nods, expression shifting into a big grin. "As a matter of fact, Riley and I went up to the Boys and Girls Club, helped host the festivities there." 

"Damn, that's right! I was bummed the big party was happening over my rut. Anyone from S&R show up?" 

"Yeah, a couple! I'll have the organizer send some pics for you to email out to your staff. That drive you did was really appreciated. We've been able to give out a lot more scholarships and plan some really great activities." Sam reaches for his phone, tapping away at it. "Sent the email just now. Look for a response on Monday."

"Thanks." Steve pauses when their waitress returns to deliver their food, waiting until she's gone to continue. "So how's Riley doing?"

"Good, all wound up about the in-home interview for the whole fostering thing before we get our final rubber stamp," says Sam, buttering his pancakes liberally. "I think he's made me repaint the spare bedroom at least three times, and then he was freaking out about fumes still lingering!"

“He’s going to do great,” says Steve. “You’re both going to do great. If you need to move any furniture around again while you get set up, call me. You know I love to lift heavy things.”

Sam snorts and props his elbow up on the table, flexing for Steve. “You implying my guns aren’t enough?”

Steve pours syrup all over his plate. “I would never make such an insinuation. You want to carry a dresser again by yourself because Riley threw his back out, be my guest.”

Sam grunts. “I’ll keep you in mind if I need some additional muscle.”

“Thank you,” Steve says. “You know I’m only handy to keep around for specific tasks.”

“That’s true.” Sam leans back, ticking off his fingers with a smirk on his face. “Lifting things, looking good, and fucking.”

“I also paint good.”

“You do paint good. I’m proud of you, Steve.” 

Steve feels the tips of his ears go hot at the unexpected, genuine praise. "Well," he croaks. "Now you've done it."

Sam's laugh is soft and good-natured. "Yeah, yeah. Be quiet now so I can eat my breakfast before my stack goes cold."

Steve gratefully accepts the excuse to move on, digging into his own plate. They chat idly the rest of the morning and Sam scoops up the check before Steve can do much more than think about the many pancake-related errors he just made (none, he made no errors, he ate the exact right amount of too many pancakes, thanks very much). 

As they get ready to part ways out on the sidewalk, Sam pulls him in for a tight hug. "When things have settled down at my place, I'll send you an invite for dinner, okay?"

Steve nods, hugging him back. "Sounds good. Let me know as soon as you hear anything about your application. I'm crossing my fingers."

They wave goodbye and Steve zips up his leather jacket before climbing onto his motorcycle. It'll be too cold to ride it much longer, but he'll take every opportunity he can get until then. On his way back to his building, his mind wanders to a certain adorable office manager.

Tomorrow’s _finally_ gonna be the day. Bucky made the first move and Steve has grand plans to ask him out. 

On Monday morning, he gets a latte on his way into the office, feeling a little indulgent, and as he checks his phone in the elevator on the way up, he sees that Natasha has booked him into an 8:30 AM meeting. 

Well. He trusts Nat. If she needs something that early without notice, then it's probably important. He swipes through the rest of his messages, shooting off emails and answering slacks, meandering leisurely to Natasha's office. 

He walks in without looking up, focused on drafting a tweet, pausing in the doorway as he glances over it and then hits send. 

"Okay!" he says, striding to an empty chair and sitting down. He looks up with a bright smile. "I'm here! What's up, Nat?"

Very quickly, he realizes that Natasha is not the only attendee. Bucky is sitting next to her, looking neat and immaculate as always in a classy three piece pinstripe suit and lavender dress shirt, but he has a very wide-eyed, pale look to him. His faintly sour scent hits Steve's nose as he looks between Natasha and Bucky, deeply confused. "Uh. Wait. What's going on?"

Bucky shrinks down in his seat like he wants to make himself smaller. Natasha purses her lips, mostly neutral, but clearly a little irritated with Steve. "Last Monday, Mr. Barnes officially reported an interaction between the two of you that took place on the evening of the previous Friday."

"I—he what?" asks Steve, setting his phone face down on the table.

A little green around the edges now, Bucky blurts, "I'm sorry. I tried to resign! I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"I'm very confused," admits Steve. "What interaction? Did something happen that I don't know about?"

Natasha raises an eyebrow, while Bucky sits up a little, his brow furrowing. "You must remember. I—I scented you at the bar! Without your permission!"

For a second, Steve just stares at him. The poor man smells so distressed, his sweet, earnest face all screwed up, and it's completely inappropriate to _laugh_ , but that's exactly what bursts out of him. 

Bucky’s face goes slack with shock, his mouth hanging open. _Don’t look at his lips_ , Steve thinks frantically. _Don’t stare at his mouth!_

Natasha rubs her temples. "Steve, could you pretend to be a professional for five seconds?"

Steve slaps a hand over his mouth and forces himself to take a deep breath. He clears his throat after a moment, shaking his head. "Sorry. I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. I’m taking this seriously. I just—" He looks directly at Bucky. "No, you didn't."

Bucky's mouth works open and closed silently for a moment, like a fish out of water. Steve has to fight not to laugh again because it's adorable and this whole situation is so absurd. Finally, though, Bucky manages to say, "But—But I did! I scented you! At the bathrooms!"

"Right, I'm not denying that," Steve says slowly. "The interaction took place. But it wasn't non-consensual. Not by a longshot. It wasn't work hours, it wasn't on work property, and I've been dying for you to come on to me for weeks."

"You...I—What?" sputters Bucky, face bright red.

"Yeah. I said I'd talk to you today so we could fill out consensual relationship agreement forms to file with HR, if you’re interested,” Steve says gently. “I don't mess around with people who work here without them, to explicitly state that I don't have anything to do with the hiring or firing of someone I’m involved with, or their raises or promotions. I would never want you to think you can’t end a potential relationship at any time, just because I'm cofounder of the company."

Bucky still looks shocked, but Natasha just lets out a long, exaggerated sigh, pulling Steve's attention to her. "So, just to confirm, you're not interested in filing a complaint against Bucky?"

"Absolutely not,” says Steve. “I acknowledge that he didn't explicitly ask if I was interested and he probably should have, but I never felt cornered, coerced, or otherwise out of control. I could have pushed him away at any moment and he backed off on his own anyway. I never felt uncomfortable," he states clearly, for the record. 

Natasha nods. "Bucky, do you have anything to add?"

Bucky looks at her dumbly, clearly still struggling to process the last ten minutes. His scent, at least, has noticeably cleared of the awful distressed element, returning to that sweet, tempting fragrance Steve's been slightly obsessed with for weeks. 

At length, Bucky whispers, "I'm not going to be fired?"

"No," answers Natasha. "You're not going to be fired, Bucky."

He nods slowly, sniffling a little, and swipes at his eyes with his sleeve. "What happens next?"

Natasha looks back at Steve. "Steve, give us the room for a moment?"

Steve nods, hopping up out of his chair. "Of course, I'll just be right out here in the hallway."

Snatching up his coffee, he leaves the room and closes the door behind him, leaning against the wall as he waits it out. He's sure Natasha is making sure Bucky is comfortable, ensuring he doesn’t feel like he _has_ to pursue anything with Steve now that Steve has denied being harassed. That's probably for the best, because Steve _definitely_ wants to pursue this, but only if Bucky actually wants him and hasn’t been so shaken by this experience that his interest has faltered.

It only takes about five minutes, and then the door opens and Natasha steps out—alone. "I've left the relationship disclosure forms on my desk. Leave them out for me when you go if that's what you both decide on."

Steve grins, giving her a salute. "Sure thing, Nat."

Dropping her voice, Natasha steps forward with that deadly calm expression that never fails to make Steve stand up a little straighter. "And if you make him uncomfortable, make him want to quit, or do anything to take advantage of that sweet summer child in there, I will personally see to it that he ends up with your half of this company. He is _not_ another fun fuck in the freelove fiasco that is your life, you absolute disaster slut."

Steve is filled with deep fondness. Natasha was their first official, outside hire, so many years ago, and he still can't believe how lucky they are to have her. He smiles at her winningly. "I will personally sign it over, Nat."

Natasha narrows her eyes, looking at him closely, then nods and pats him in the center of the chest. "Okay. Go fix this, you giant fool."

She leaves, and Steve takes a breath and lets himself back into Natasha's office, closing the door behind him. He doesn't sit down, though, waiting for Bucky to look up at him before he gives him a soft smile. 

"Hey," says Steve. "I just want you to know that we don't have to fill out those forms. If this has been too stressful, too much to take, then that's okay. We don't have to pursue this. I really am so sorry for the misunderstanding, Bucky."

Bucky's eyes are very big and grey, red-rimmed like maybe he's been holding back tears, but his scent is much calmer, the warm bakery scent of caramelized sugar filling Steve's nose. His trembling mouth spreads into a crooked grin. "I thought I was going to get fired today," he says shakily and then sniffs. It's clear he's _relieved_ , but Steve still moves towards him with the instinctive urge to comfort, sitting next to Bucky and putting a hand on his shoulder. 

"I'm sorry," he soothes. "I shouldn't have left things the way I did that night. I should have made sure you understood what I wanted to talk about." Steve's hand moves down on its own, until he's rubbing Bucky's back in small, soothing circles between his shoulders. "I never would have imagined you thinking I didn't want you scenting me. I just—I was almost in rut. I didn't want to start something new before I could make sure we were on the same page."

Bucky sniffles again, bobbing his head in a nod. "I understand. I do. I’m sorry, too. I don’t know how it just—happened like that, and it was so inappropriate to touch you without actually knowing you wanted me to. I...I do want to sign the forms, though, if that’s what you want, too. It's just been a really stressful week. I'm still kind of shocked I haven't been escorted out."

"Why don't I take you for a cup of coffee?" asks Steve. 

Bucky shakes his head apologetically. “I can’t.”

Steve pauses in soothing Bucky, hand still on his shoulder. "I'm sorry. Should I—?"

"No, no, I just mean...I worked from home, all last week. I really need to be in the office right now. But I do want to go for coffee with you."

"Ah, well, fair enough. I'd hate to distract you from work," he agrees, giving Bucky a smile. 

Bucky, to his surprise, turns very red. "More than you already do, you mean?"

Steve laughs, startled but delighted at Bucky's snark. "Yeah, back at you, Buck."

Bucky huffs, ducking his head, but he glances up at Steve through his dark lashes. "You really want to go out with _me_?"

That revealing insecurity cuts straight through to Steve's heart, making his chest ache. How the _hell_ does Bucky not realize how amazing and gorgeous and sweet and desirable he is? Steve is bowled over every time he’s in his presence by how much he wants him, wants to know everything about him, too. "Yeah, I really do. I'd take you out to dinner tonight, if you'd let me."

Bucky sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, worrying at it before he straightens up, determined. "Okay."

Steve blinks. "...Okay?"

"Okay, I'll go out with you tonight. To dinner." He nods. "I'm done at four and I'll go home and change and then we can go. You can pick me up."

Steve can't help the giant grin spreading across his face. "Alright, you got it. You wanna give me your number so I can get your address?"

They exchange numbers, and then sign the forms, leaving them on Natasha's desk. 

Before they part ways to return to work, Steve says, "If I pick you up at six, does that work?"

"Yes," says Bucky. He's still a little flushed, endearingly so, and the familiar sweet-bread smell of freshly-baked cinnamon buns rolls off of him. "How should I, um, dress?"

For a brief moment, Steve thinks Bucky is actually asking him for instructions on what he should wear, rather than the more reasonable assumption that he'd like to know if wherever Steve wants to take him will have a dress code. It brings Steve's stupid Alpha brain to a screeching halt. 

Bucky doesn't seem to notice, clarifying, "Like, fancy, or...?"

That's actually something Steve hadn't considered yet. He _could_ go over the top, bring Bucky somewhere high end, but that seems like an awkward first date. Casual is probably better. "No," he says. "Whatever you're comfortable in. I'm not taking you to McDonald's, but there's no dress code."

"Okay," says Bucky. He gives Steve a tremulous smile and then jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "I'll just...get back to work."

"Have a good day." He grins as Bucky flushes prettily and turns away, hurrying off toward his desk.

With a bounce to his step, he heads for his own office. Sure, it was a rocky start, but Steve feels extremely pleased by the outlook now that it's all been sorted. He has a date with the cutest person he's ever met, just an absolute doll inside and out. Natasha's right. This isn't another fun but ultimately meaningless interlude. He's only ever fooled around with people who were very clear from the moment they asked him out that they were just looking for a good time, no strings attached, and Steve preferred it that way. 

He's never been interested in settling down, in serious dating, and he doesn't regret his choices one bit. It's just that now...now he thinks he'd really like to date. He'd really like to date _Bucky_. 

Honestly, it's a bit shocking, because Steve's always gravitated toward other big personalities, and he's never really spent any time with an Omega like Bucky, who is clearly more reserved and introverted. Then again, Bucky's shown a flare for stubbornness and sarcasm at unexpected moments. Steve allows his mind to wander, idly considering the hints of fierceness he can't wait to further uncover. 

He's pulled from his train of thought by his computer pinging, alerting him to incoming messages. Right, work. He's been off for a week, and unlike Bucky, he wasn't working from home. He's got a lot to catch up with and if he wants to get out of here on time to spruce himself up for his date, he needs to buckle down. 

Which is exactly what he does, and by five, he's able to shut off his computer and head out. He notices immediately that Bucky's desk is empty, and he grins as he heads out the door, grateful he took his bike today. It'll make getting home quickly a lot easier so he can change and head to Bucky's place in good time.

He has just enough time for a five minute shower before changing into nice dark jeans and a soft grey sweater that he's been informed on numerous occasions brings out the blue of his eyes. He combs and styles his hair and then heads out to pick up Bucky. 

Steve's luck holds out; he finds street parking right in front of Bucky's building and pulls out his phone to find that Bucky has only just texted him.

 **Bucky** : let me know when you're here and I'll come down so you don’t have to deal with the doorman  
**Steve** : I'm here :)  
**Bucky** : coming!! 

Steve does get out of the car, though, because he can't stand the idea of being the kind of first date that just waits in the car to pick up their partner. He's planning on going right up to the door, but Bucky emerges before he can cross the sidewalk, lighting up when he sees Steve waiting for him. 

"Hi!" he says, grinning at Steve. He's gone for jeans as well, with a collared shirt and black sweater, no tie, and his hair is artfully arranged in soft curls swept down over his forehead. He's carrying a jacket over his arm. 

"Hi," Steve says warmly. He wants to lean in and scent him, press a kiss to his cheek, but gets the feeling that even if that would go ever well, he should probably dial it back a little. Instead, he opens the passenger side door for Bucky and holds it for him. 

"Oh, thanks," says Bucky, ducking his head to get in. Steve lets him get settled before he closes the car door and skirts around to get into the driver's side. 

"You look really nice, Buck," says Steve, buckling his seatbelt. 

"Thanks," murmurs Bucky, ducking his head and hiding a smile. "You, um, you too. I mean, you always—" He clears his throat, pink cheeked. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," says Steve. And then, considering the nervousness pouring off of Bucky, he asks softly, "Can I hold your hand as we drive to the restaurant?"

Bucky's cheeks remain that soft, pretty pink and he does that endearing thing where he bites at his lip, big round eyes looking at Steve. It's not a huge ask on a first date, but they both know it will mean that Steve's scent will rub off on Bucky and vice versa. Not enough to signal an intimate relationship, but enough to establish they're together for the evening, and Steve wants that, badly. He rests his hand, palm up on the middle arm rest, and shyly, Bucky accepts. "Okay."

His hand is warm and just the slightest bit damp, but Steve doesn't mind. It means Bucky's scent will be stronger against his skin. Steve laces their fingers together, rubbing his thumb over Bucky's wrist. "Thank you."

He puts his signal on and pulls out into traffic, guiding them through the streets of Brooklyn until he makes it over to Williamsburg, where his favorite pizza place awaits. He's known the owner his whole life, since he was a small boy, running around with Peggy and Sam, causing mischief, and he's already called ahead to make sure he can get the booth off toward the back in a weird corner that makes no architectural sense, as old buildings so often have, but provides the most privacy in the place.

Bucky is mostly quiet as they drive, head turned to look out the window, but his grip is firm in Steve's hand. When they park at the restaurant, Steve is reluctant even to let go, but he releases Bucky's hand as they get out of the car. 

"Hope you like pizza," murmurs Steve, putting a hand to the small of Bucky's back to guide him inside. 

"Who doesn't like pizza?" returns Bucky, giving him a cheeky little smile. "I love it. Oh, god, this place smells great."

"Best pizza in Brooklyn," Steve says confidently, as they enter the warm, bright restaurant. There's a massive wood oven in the back, and booths and tables covered in checked tablecloths. 

"Steve," the hostess greets him. "Nice to see you tonight. I've got your booth ready at the back."

"Thanks so much," says Steve, letting his hand drop so that Bucky doesn't feel like he's being herded. 

"I'll be back to take orders for drinks," says the hostess, leaving them be after they've been seated.

"They know you here," comments Bucky, glancing at the menu and then looking around. 

"Been coming here since I was a kid," says Steve. "It's my favorite spot. I recommend literally anything on the menu."

"Hm," says Bucky, peering at it closely. "Do I pretend I can't eat an entire pizza on my own, or...?"

Steve laugh is warm. “Don’t you dare. Besides, this way we can try more toppings. Although I gotta say, I’ve failed you if I don’t insist on the roasted garlic on every slice.”

Bucky grins, his whole face lighting up, radiating sweetness just like his scent. “Good thing I brought breath mints, I guess.”

“Yeah,” agrees Steve, gently hooking their ankles together but leaving room for Bucky to disengage if he prefers. “Good thing.”

Bucky ducks his head again, looking pleased as punch, and when the waiter returns, he orders a beer and so does Steve. They also order two pizzas and a basket of garlic knots. Their beers are quickly delivered with their basket of bread, and then the waitress disappears and Steve finally has Bucky all to himself. “So, awkward first date questions,” he begins after taking a sip. “How’s family for a topic? Safe ground to continue exploring?”

Bucky shrugs one shoulder. “Yeah, mostly,” he huffs, rolling his eyes. He seems to remember himself quickly and adds, “I mean, of course. Sorry."

"No need to be sorry." Steve shrugs, still smiling. "We don't have to talk about them if you don't want to."

"I’m just...Like I said before, me being the only Omega of my siblings or my parents, it gets frustrating." He shrugs, as if to dismiss the issue. Steve wonders how often he feels like he has to downplay his own feelings, just to keep other people happy. "Um, so, I can't remember if I told you already, but my ma and pa moved to Miami recently. They’re both retired doctors and my sisters took over their practice. Doctor, nurse practitioner, and another doctor in her residency now. I told you about Becca, the oldest, how’s she’s married and I have a nephew and two nieces. There’s not much else.” He sucks in a breath and offers a smile. “What about you?”

“Well, my ma’s a nurse,” offer Steve. “She actually went back to school to get her DNP herself about ten years ago, been bedside her whole life before then but now she teaches. My dad passed away when I was two, so...I don’t really remember him much. He was in the army.”

Bucky nods along, listening attentively, his empathy so visible on his face, it makes Steve want to hide him away, protect him, which he’s sure Bucky wouldn’t appreciate, considering how overprotective his family seems to be. "I'm sorry," he says, unaware of the battle taking place in Steve’s Alpha brain.

Steve smiles, nodding in thanks. "Appreciate that, Buck." He takes a breath, letting the moment settle before he moves them along. "So, I know we poached you from your old job. Any regrets?"

Bucky laughs in surprise. "No, not really. I was kind of complacent. I got used to it, but they didn't pay me enough, and it wasn't a great environment. I was mostly scared about cutting and running. It feels a little like I burned a bridge there. My sister was really disappointed, but I think it's already worked out."

"Again, we're really happy to have you," says Steve. "Don't tell her I said this, but I know Natasha would protect you with her life."

Bucky turns bright red. "She's been a wonderful mentor," he demurs. "I'm lucky she believes in me."

Steve hums, taking a sip of his beer. "What do you do in your spare time?"

It's a fairly innocuous question, but it seems to trip Bucky up more than any family and work topics so far. "Uh," he says, somehow turning even redder. He drops his eyes to the table and chews on his lower lip. "I like knitting," he says. "I make stuff for my family and the kids. I bake a lot in the winter." 

As he talks, Steve understands his reticence with a small pang. Bucky murmurs about miniatures and dollhouse kits and Steve _gets it_. The youngest child of four, a boy with a pack of driven older sisters, the only Omega, and all his hobbies are traditionally quiet, homey activities. He's embarrassed to even be saying this, which seems to indicate it's all just coincidence, that none of these things were forced upon him or encouraged, he just....likes them. Steve's upset that Bucky feels like he's going to get scorned. 

"Have you seen those kits you can find on Amazon?" Steve asks. 

Bucky looks up, surprised, finally making eye contact. "What?"

"I think they're Japanese," continues Steve. "They're miniatures. You can get grocery stores, bakeries..."

"Yeah," says Bucky, still thrown off. "I, um. They're pretty expensive, but I have a couple that I built.”

"I'm too impatient to build things, but sometimes when I'm trying to fall asleep at night, I watch videos of people assembling them on YouTube," says Steve. "It's really relaxing."

Bucky smiles, surprise and delight written all across his handsome face. “Yeah!” He seems, all at once, to blossom, dropping some of his defensiveness on the topic. “That’s what I do when I’m trying to unwind! And I just...I really like how much attention and focus it takes, it’s so fulfilling to accomplish something like that.”

Steve thinks there’s a high possibility that giving Bucky that level of attention and focus will feel similarly rewarding and it won’t exactly be a hardship. “I’d love to see the ones you’ve done, one day.”

Bucky’s scent washes over him with such intense pleasure that Steve has to stop himself from scenting the air. Bucky is absolutely beaming. “I’d like that. Maybe—maybe if I get a new one this Christmas you could—I mean it might be boring to watch someone do it in person. Heh, forget it.”

The way Bucky visibly wilts in front of his eyes is devastating. Steve reaches out on instinct and tangles their fingers together again, giving Bucky’s hand a squeeze. “I would _love_ to do that,” he says genuinely. “I bet watching you would be even _better_ than YouTube.”

Bucky’s ears are red, but he lets out an obvious breath of relief, perking up again. “Okay,” he says. “Um, what...what sort of stuff do you like to do?”

Steve considers. “Well, I’m predictably into fitness. I run a few marathons a year and train for that. Me and my friend Sam do that a lot. I presented really late and was pretty skinny and running was about the only athletic thing I was good at, so...it kind of stuck even after. Um, I read a lot, anything I can get my hands on, and of course, art. I’m always sketching something, working on a different project.”

Bucky has leaned in and he hasn’t let go of Steve’s hand, listening intently. “Oh wow, that all sounds like fun. Read anything you really enjoyed lately?”

“Yeah, actually, I just finished a book written by a South Africa author about their experience as a nonbinary Alpha. It was such an interesting critique on gender and designation and the influence of colonialism on indigenous cultures. I can’t remember their name off the top of my head but I’ll text it to you.”

"Wow," says Bucky, eyes wide. "That sounds amazing. Thank you."

The conversation lulls a little at exactly the right moment; their pizzas arrive, and they busy themselves with big foldable slices, dripping with gooey hot cheese and big soft chunks of caramelized garlic. Bucky ordered slices of fresh tomato and basil on his, while Steve went for pepperoni and green olives, but they share equally, and only leave behind two slices when they both finally lose steam. 

"Oh my god," groans Bucky, slumping back in the booth. "I'm dying. That was so good."

"You should take these home," murmurs Steve. "We can pack them up."

"Oh, no, you should," says Bucky, in what sounds like a reflexive courtesy.

Steve hums, not bothering to argue, because he's going to make sure Bucky takes the leftover pizza anyway. "They don't really do dessert here, but there's a place nearby where we can go get some cake or ice cream."

"I guess I can die a little more," says Bucky. "I always have room for dessert."

"Me too," says Steve cheerfully.

He gets the pizza boxed up and picks up the check, Bucky making an effort to split it with him but letting Steve pay when he points out that Steve is the one that asked Bucky out. 

They walk together, Steve offering Bucky his hand again, and there's no hesitation this time before Bucky takes it. He leans into Steve a bit, body warm and close, and Steve guides him to the fancy little dessert place he goes to when he has a craving for something sweet.

As soon as they walk through the door, Bucky's eyes go round and he tugs Steve straight over to the big display case full of decorated cakes and cupcakes and little fancy macarons and gourmet fudge. "Ohhhh," moans Bucky, the sound soft and genuine, and Steve knows it makes him predictable, but he can't help cataloging the sound and wondering how he could encourage Bucky to make it again and again. Bucky all but has his nose pressed to the glass. "These look amazing."

Steve hums, keeping hold of Bucky's hand to keep himself from dropping his arm around his shoulders and pulling him close. He doesn't know if Bucky wants that level of contact yet and he feels keenly that perhaps...Bucky is not very experienced. They haven't gotten around to the topic of romantic history, but in Steve's experience that's usually best left to the second or third date. "Pick whatever you want. We can try a little of everything and then take the rest home."

Bucky smiles up at Steve, and god, those smiles are such a good look on him. He's always so serious in the office, his smiles so tentative. Steve wants to see him look like this always, but at the same time, there's a dark, horrible little voice inside his head that's greedy, that wants to hoard these expressions just for himself. No one else deserves to see Bucky like this. 

"Any preferences?" asks Bucky. 

"Anything with caramel," Steve answers immediately, trying to take a subtle, deep breath to get that perfect hit of warm, browning sugar and butter that makes up Bucky's scent. 

Bucky nods with decisive force, and when the clerk finishes ringing up his current customer, he comes over. "What can I get for you?"

Bucky hesitates only for a moment before he says, "We'll have the almond wedding cake cupcake, a piece of caramel chocolate fudge, two chocolate-dipped coconut macaroons, the triple chocolate cupcake, and a slice of cheesecake with a side of caramel sauce and raspberry sauce, please." He glances at Steve, and then, peering up at the list of ice cream flavors, cheeks going very pink for some reason, he adds, "Oh, and a scoop of the blackberry cobbler ice cream."

The clerk blinks. "To go?"

Bucky huffs. "For here, but...but maybe some containers to pack up leftovers to go?"

Steve lets out a happy chuckle. "You heard the man."

The clerk recovers quickly, punching in their order and handing over a table number. 

Bucky also orders a pot of herbal tea, earnestly telling Steve that he prefers coffee or black tea, but even decaf will disturb his sleep this late in the evening. 

"Coffee doesn't have an effect on me anymore," Steve says as they find a table by the window and sit down. "Sometimes I have it in bed, while reading a book before I fall asleep."

"I once accidentally drank a green tea energy drink at dinner and I was up all night," Bucky says. "There are two kinds of people."

Steve laughs indulgently. "I definitely don't think anyone should follow my example." 

"Or mine," says Bucky, as the server arrives with their desserts. Everything's been plated beautifully, emphasizing just how much they ordered. Still, Bucky lights up again, waiting patiently for the server to leave before he picks up one of the two forks they've been given. "Case in point, enough dessert for, like, six people."

"Well, how are you meant to choose?" murmurs Steve. He divides the cheesecake in two, spooning some caramel onto it, while Bucky goes straight for the triple chocolate cupcake. His eyes slip shut as he takes a bite, moaning softly as he chews and swallows. "Good?" asks Steve softly. 

Bucky nods furiously. "Incredible. Oh, the ice cream, that's gonna melt..." He scoops some up and takes a bite, sighing happily. 

"Interesting flavor," says Steve, sampling some as well. "Mmm. Wow. That's good."

"Yeah," says Bucky, cheeks red again. "Yeah, it's....really good. How's the cheesecake?"

"Decadent," says Steve.

Bucky looks transcendent, beaming at Steve, and Steve’s heart trips into a faster rhythm. Then, Bucky picks up one of the macaroons and indulgently pops the whole thing in his mouth. 

"You're beautiful," Steve hears himself say, the words tumbling from his mouth. He can't help it. Bucky's so unassuming, so charming without even trying, and Steve just wants him to know that there's at least one person on earth who notices him. "I mean it, just stunning, Bucky."

Bucky chews intently, gaze falling to the table, face warm and cheeks puffed out a bit from trying to hurry up and swallow. When he finally manages it, he looks back at Steve, fidgeting with his cup of tea. "Um, thank you."

Steve makes a self-deprecating sound, ducking his head to take a steadying breath before he looks back up. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to come on too strong. I just...wanted you to know. I really hope you'll do this again with me, soon."

Taking a careful sip of his tea, Bucky picks up his ice cream again. "I think I'd like that. I'm...having a lot of fun."

"Me too," says Steve. He really _is_. He can tell there's a compatibility here that he hasn't really experienced before. Steve's never been unhappy with his romantic life; he gets to meet a lot of fun, attractive, unattached people, and he never has to worry about the future. 

The thing is, though, Steve just turned 30 this year. He's known for a little while that the free-wheeling slut life isn't really going to serve him forever. It’s not the image or reputation he wants to maintain any longer and he's starting to look longingly at the long term relationships of his friends. Not that he's going to jump into something serious just to do it, either.

He can't get too far ahead of himself, obviously. He can't just assume, after one date, that this relationship is going to be long term. They've agreed, tentatively, to go out again, which is good. They're obviously going to take it slow and Steve's happy about that. He's happy to just spend time with Bucky, get to know him better, sit across from him like this and enjoy his peaceful expression as he eats ice cream. 

They get containers to pack up the leftovers, as promised, and when Steve drops Bucky off, he gets out of the car with him, to walk him to the door. 

"Oh, no, I can't take all of it," Bucky protests, when Steve gives him the pizza and the dessert. "Steve—"

"Please," says Steve. "You'll enjoy it more than I will. I had a really good time tonight."

"Me too," says Bucky. "Thank you." He hesitates, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Do you want—Is it okay if I—"

"You can ask me for anything you want and I'll give it to you," Steve says. It's too much, too soon. It's really, really too much. 

Bucky flushes and flicks his gaze to Steve's mouth. "Can I have a good night kiss?" Bucky asks quietly.

Keen, aching desire swoops through his gut, making his muscles tense with anticipation. "Of course, Buck, I'd like nothing more than to kiss you goodnight. Can I ask a question in return? And you can say no, it won't change anything about my enjoyment tonight or wanting to see you again."

Bucky nods, lips parted.

"When I kiss you, would it be okay if I scented you, just a little?" He keeps his voice gentle and calm, takes extra care to put no Alpha authority or pushiness behind the words. 

Bucky's response is immediate, eyes fluttering as he nods again, leaning toward Steve like he just can't help himself. 

"Okay," breathes out Steve, gentling his hand against Bucky's neck, tucking his thumb just under his jaw by his cute little chin as he tips Bucky's head up. He's not that much shorter than Steve, but this close up, it's more noticeable, and Steve delights in the way Bucky barely trembles against him, the way his tongue darts out to lick his lips, the way his pupils grow larger as Steve leans in. 

Bucky's eyes slip shut, a delicate sound slipping out of his mouth as Steve's lips meet his. Steve allows himself the luxury of stepping that much closer, until his other hand can rest against Bucky's hip, not gripping or pulling, just—a warm touch. He kisses Bucky for several long seconds, pillowy glances of pressure and soft suction as he licks along the seam of Bucky's mouth, before dropping one last chaste peck on the corner, Bucky's lips parting on a breathy sigh. 

Stroking his thumb along Bucky's smooth jaw, Steve smiles and applies just the smallest bit of pressure to guide Bucky's head further back and to the side, exposing his long, gorgeous neck. Steve bends his head to drag his nose from collar to ear, breathing in deep and slow, and as he does, he's shocked and gratified Bucky’s low, helpless moan hands coming up to clutch at Steve's shoulders.

Both of their hands drop away from each other as Steve takes a step back, Bucky slowly blinking his eyes open again. He looks dazed, drugged, and if Steve were a worse Alpha and person, he sees how easy it would be to press for more than the sweet, innocent gestures Bucky gave him permission for. Instead, he makes sure that Bucky has a tight grip on the bags of leftovers and takes another deliberate step back. "Thank you for that. Sleep well, okay? I'll see you tomorrow."

Bucky's breath stutters and he blinks again as he very obviously gets ahold of himself. "Yeah, I—I'll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, Steve."

He turns and unlocks the door of his building and Steve watches as he steps inside, making sure to hear the door click shut behind him.

Steve drives home on another plane of existence. It's like he's floating above the city, gliding through the night. 

He's humming cheerfully as he lets himself into his apartment, then whistling as he kicks off his shoes and hangs up his jacket. Actually finds himself dancing into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. 

Steve feels _great_. He feels fucking incredible. Bucky's sweet, slightly spicy scent clings to his skin, and Steve closes his eyes and tries to keep it in his nose while he remembers the kiss that Bucky asked for. He tasted so good, too, made such soft, needy noises into Steve's mouth—

God. Steve needs to get a hold of himself. It's only Monday. They've had one (1) date. This morning, Steve nearly drove Bucky out of the company, convinced him he was about to be fired. He's fucking lucky that Bucky was even willing to move past that misunderstanding. He's spent _weeks_ hoping Bucky might return his interest, that he'd pursue Steve if he wanted him. 

That's not quite what happened, obviously. The outcome could have been so much worse. 

Steve takes a shower, keeping the temperature a little chillier than he normally would. He wants to jerk off, but he doesn't. He checks his phone when he gets into bed to read and finds that Bucky has texted him. 

**Bucky** : thanks again :) I had a really good time tonight.  
**Bucky** : see you tomorrow!  
**Steve** : Me too :)  
**Steve** : Sleep well, Bucky 😘

Steve waits a moment to see if anything else comes through before he plugs his phone in and sets it down, smiling as he gets into bed. The same shivery need sweeps over him. He wants to jerk off, but he’s not going to. He's never felt like this before, where it's almost like...he'd rather wait, rather let the anticipation build so that the next orgasm he has is _with_ Bucky, not just...imagining him. It almost feels too crude or cheap to do anything else.

Which is absolutely insane and Steve knows it. Still, he wants it.

Despite his latent desire, Steve drifts off to sleep quickly. The next morning, he can't help but shoot a text to Bucky as he's leaving his home. 

**Steve** : can I bring you a coffee and a pastry from the place in our building?  
**Bucky** : you don't have to...  
**Steve** : I know. I'd like to, though. May I?  
**Bucky** : okay. Whatever you're having is fine.

Steve orders two maple pecan lattes and two cheese danishes and enters the office with a bounce to his step, enjoying that he has a reason to swing by Bucky's desk that doesn't involve work. He sets the cup and the tissue wrapped pastry on Bucky's desk with a smile. "Good morning."

"Morning." Bucky grins up at him and it's so cute, a light flush coloring his cheeks. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Steve takes a sip of his own drink and then adds. "I'll try to make sure I give you space at work. We didn't really discuss that, but...I don't want to distract you or get in your way. I want to remain professional while we're here. But...I may take advantage of us both being early risers to bring you coffee in the morning, if that's alright with you."

Bucky nods, picking up the coffee and taking a sip. "Okay, that sounds nice. I want to be professional during business hours, too." He licks his full lips. "I'd just...rather us dating be between us for as long as we can manage."

Steve nods. He knows people at work like to gossip about him; who he's seen with from week to week is a common topic around the office. It's never bothered him before and it's never struck him as disrespectful. He's never _dated_ , though. He's never dated anyone at the office, either, and while the gossip about Steve doesn't bother him, he bristles at the idea of anyone gossiping about _Bucky_. "I agree. Your comfort is very important to me, Bucky. You can count on me to respect that."

Bucky looks grateful, clutching his coffee in both hands. "Thank you. And thanks for the treats. I hope you have a good day."

"You too, Buck," says Steve. "See you."

Steve heads to his office, unpacking and settling in. It's a nice enough morning, for a Tuesday, which is objectively the worst day of the week. One of his meetings gets cancelled, which is always nice, and he makes a sizable dent in his email backlog. He doesn't really cross paths with Bucky at all, but he's serious about not bothering him. While he'd _like_ to go out of his way to run into Bucky, he knows boundaries are extremely important. They're at work. 

"Hello," says Natasha. 

Steve actually jumps, jerking his head up to see her standing at his desk. "Jesus, Nat. Hi."

"You're engrossed in your work," she teases. "I've noticed Bucky seems very happy today, which means I don't need to wring your neck."

"I was serious," he says, sitting back in his chair and running a hand through his hair. "But also, you're the only one who knows, and he wants to keep it that way."

"Steven. I don't gossip," Natasha says flatly. "I'm just checking in on _his_ behalf."

"I took him on a very nice date," Steve says defensively. 

Natasha's eyebrows both go up. "Did you?"

"Yes," he returns. "And _yes_ , I know what a nice date entails. It was really good. We had a great time."

She laughs. "Oh boy, you are smitten, huh? Isn't that adorable. Steven G. Rogers, head over heels for the sweetest Omega in New York City. I'd never believe it if I wasn't witnessing it with my own eyes."

"Stop," he huffs, but he can't help the smile that tugs at his mouth. "I _am_ going to do this right, Nat. I swear."

She shrugs. "Okay. I'm happy for you, then."

Steve nods and then the conversation shifts to business, Steve distracted. He ends up staying late to help put out a fire with marketing and by the time he's heading out of the office, it's past six and Bucky's desk is abandoned. He gets out his phone as he heads to the elevator, quickly tapping a message.

 **Steve** : I was hoping I'd get to walk you out tonight but work got busy. I hope you had a good day?  
**Bucky** : yes! it went fast :) Sorry I missed you.  
**Steve** : You don't have to apologize.  
**Steve** : I would like to take you out again soon, though. Would tomorrow be too much? I don't want to rush you.  
**Bucky** : I have dinner with my family, but...I'm free Thursday?  
**Steve** : It's a date.

For a little while, things between Steve and Bucky progress at a comfortable rate. Steve really has to make an effort not to ask Bucky out every single day. 

He finds he _wants_ to see him all the time. Misses seeing him when they're apart. Limits himself to a maximum of three dates a week, because more than that feels too _intense_. They can't work together and also see each other more than half the week, right?

The thing is, Steve isn't used to this. He's more accustomed to casual flings, so going out with Bucky, in every iteration, is a wonderful novelty that consistently delivers. 

On Thursday, Steve takes Bucky out for a movie. They share popcorn, and even though Bucky seems enthusiastic about the horror movie that _he_ suggests they see, he also buries his face in Steve's shoulder for more than half the screen time, and clutches hard at Steve's hand whenever he jumps and lets out shocked gasps. 

Not that Steve is complaining. He's really, really not complaining. Eventually, he puts his arm around Bucky's shoulders to make it easier for him to hide, and it's a bit of a thrill to feel like he can protect Bucky from a child-eating killer clown from space. 

"That was a lot sadder than I expected," Steve admits when it’s over.

"Yeah," sniffles Bucky. "I liked it. Can't wait to never sleep again."

After the movie date, they go to the Museum of Natural History and Central Park. Then a street food festival. One weekend, they go for a walk down the boardwalk at Coney Island and eat steaming hot dogs piled high with meat sauce, onions, and mustard, strolling hand in hand.

On a particularly beautiful November day, when the temperature climbs back up to a balmy sixty degrees, Steve takes his motorcycle to work. It’s probably going to be the last day that he can, enjoying the cool breeze and bright sun. 

It’s so nice out that Steve stops by Bucky’s desk after lunch, struck by a flash of inspiration. 

“Hey,” he says, when Bucky looks up. “Am I disturbing you?”

“I have a minute,” says Bucky. “What’s up?”

“The weather is gorgeous,” says Steve. “This is probably one of the last nice days we’ll get to do something outdoors. Wanna go for a picnic with me? In the park?”

Bucky’s expression brightens into a smile. “I think I can make room in my calendar for you. Want me to order some food?”

“Hey, now,” says Steve. “I’m inviting _you_ out. I think I can handle securing some food. Oh, are you okay to ride with me on my bike?”

“Your bike?” Something flashes across Bucky’s face that isn’t quite decipherable. “Like, your motorcycle?”

“I have a spare helmet,” says Steve. “I’m very safe.”

"I believe you," says Bucky, fidgeting in his seat. "I can do that, ride with you."

There's a soft pink flush tinging his cheeks right now and a very subtle shift to his scent. Steve's heart thumps in his chest, his nose flaring as he takes a deep breath. Bucky's blush deepens.

 _Oh_. 

Steve blinks and looks away, clearing his throat as he tries to regain some dignity for them _both_ as he realizes he just scented the air at work like some frat boy without manners. "So, I'll uh," he tries, breathing in through his mouth, slow and steady. "I'll swing by your desk to pick you up. Do you think you can manage to be done a little early today? Around 3:30, so we actually catch some daylight. Is that okay? Enough time to finish for the day?"

Bucky bobs his head. "Yes, that's fine. I can—that should be fine."

"Okay, well," begins Steve. He points his thumb over his shoulder. "I'd better get back to work."

"Me, too. Hectic day." Bucky ducks his head, shuffling papers on his desk, clicking things with his mouse, generally being visibly busy. 

With one last awkward wave, Steve turns and runs back to his office, closing the door so he can deal with the fact that Bucky just barely got turned on—because of the _motorcycle_!—and Steve nearly lost his mind. 

This bodes well for later. Bucky is going to get on the bike behind Steve, he’s going to wrap his arms around his waist, and—

“Get a hold of yourself, Rogers,” he mutters, flopping into his chair and doing a slow spin while he stares at the ceiling. He just needs a minute to catch his breath. And a bucket of cold water. 

Eventually, he rouses himself enough to order some fancy sandwiches and sides from a nearby cafe he likes that occasionally caters to the office. Then, he forcibly turns his attention back to work for another couple hours, pointedly keeping his mind _off_ Bucky. 

He packs up just before 3:30, logging off and closing his laptop. Changing into his boots, he shrugs on his jacket and pockets his phone and wallet. Keys in hand, he crosses the office to Bucky’s desk.

Steve fully intends to be normal, but when he opens his mouth, what comes out is, “Ready to go for a ride?”

Bucky is halfway up out of his seat, poised with his hand on the back of his chair, and he freezes there, staring up at Steve with wide eyes. “I—”

“That came out—wrong,” Steve says hurriedly. “I’m sorry—”

For a second, Bucky just stares at him, before letting out a breathy laugh and unfolding to his full height. His gaze flickers, sweeping down the length of Steve’s body. There is color in his cheeks, a warm flush settling over his features, and he licks his lips, eyes lingering on Steve’s chest. “I’m ready,” he says hoarsely. He snags a denim jacket from his chair and slips it on. 

He looks good, the fit of the jacket accentuating his shoulders, the collar drawing attention to his elegant neck, the delicate bob of his throat as he swallows. Steve's tongue feels too big in his mouth. "Um, great. Okay."

Bucky's still grinning as he comes around the desk and Steve resists putting his arm around him. They're still in the office and, for the most part, no one has seemed to really catch on to what they're doing. It's a battle of wills the entire elevator ride down, though, and as soon as they're in the garage, Steve gives in and pulls Bucky close by the collar of his jacket, leaning in to nuzzle their noses together before kissing. 

Bucky sighs into it, eyes crinkling with obvious enjoyment. 

Steve barely manages to pull back, planting kisses all along his devastating cheekbone and up to his cute little ear and then burying his nose in Bucky's thick curls to breathe in his scent again. "I missed you."

Bucky giggles, pushing at him. "You've seen me all day!"

"Not the same," he says. "Couldn't kiss you."

"Fair point," sighs Bucky, tipping his head back to kiss Steve's chin and then his lips. "Come on, though, I'm hungry and I don't want to waste this beautiful day standing in a parking garage!"

Steve lets out a theatrical sigh and reluctantly steps back. “Come on, then. You ever been on one before?”

“No,” says Bucky, trailing after Steve as they approach his parking space. He stops to watch Steve retrieve their helmets, that appreciative gaze warming Steve from the inside out. 

“Well, we don’t have to go far,” says Steve. He hands Bucky his spare helmet. “Sorry in advance for what this is going to do to your hair.”

“Is there anything I need to know?” Bucky holds the helmet with both hands, clearly a little nervous. 

Steve nods, zipping up his jacket and then popping his own helmet on. “Climb on after me. Wrap your arms tight around my waist and don’t let go. Don’t try to lean into turns with me, either. Just sit up straight and you’ll be fine.”

Turning to the bike, Steve climbs on, kicking up the stand and getting himself settled while Bucky puts on his helmet. He turns the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life. Bucky hasn’t moved, those big grey eyes peering at him uncertainly through the visor. Steve holds out his hand encouragingly and Bucky finally inches forward, putting one hand on Steve’s shoulder to brace himself as he swings his leg over the seat. 

The warm weight of him settles behind Steve, bringing with it the sweet rush of Bucky’s scent. Bucky’s arms slide around Steve’s waist as he cuddles in close, lacing his fingers together. 

Stomach swooping hotly, Steve revs the engine, enjoying the slight tightening of Bucky's hold, the jerk of his hips against Steve's back. This was, undoubtedly, the stupidest and best thing he's ever decided to do. 

He pulls away from his parking spot, easily navigating out of the garage and onto the street toward the cafe to get their food, then on to Prospect Park. He almost wishes it were a longer ride; the short ten minutes, even with traffic, ends too soon, and he's able to snag a parking spot, right along the street. 

He kicks the stand out and turns off the engine, tugging off his helmet setting it down so he can turn back toward Bucky. "Okay?"

The little hitch in Bucky's breath is quiet, but he nods, finally releasing Steve's middle. Grinning, Steve reaches back to take his hand as he helps him climb off, getting his feet back under him. When Bucky reaches up to pull his own helmet off, Steve can't help the soft chuckle at how haywire Bucky's curls have gone. 

Reaching up, Steve hesitates as he meets Bucky's eyes. "May I?"

"They'll frizz," says Bucky, mouth parted as he stares at Steve, breathing a little quick and shallow still. 

Steve feels his eyes crinkle as he smiles. "Promise, I'll be careful."

"O-okay," he agrees, eyes big and dark as he continues to watch Steve. It makes Steve want to devour him.

He fixes Bucky's hair instead, light touches just to rearrange each lock without breaking apart the curls. When he's done, he smiles, taking Bucky's helmet from his hands and standing up too, putting them both away and grabbing the bag of food and the blanket he packed. 

Bucky straightens his jacket and brushes himself down, seemingly collecting himself. 

"I figure we can catch the last bit of this sunlight," says Steve, as they walk down the path. 

"Before we're plunged into the everlasting darkness of winter," Bucky says solemnly. "The temperature is dropping tomorrow."

They wander for a while, looking for a good spot to sit. Bucky pesters at Steve to let him carry something, so he gives him the blanket, and then they wind their free hands together as they stroll down the path to the lake. 

There are, as always, plenty of people out, mostly running and jogging, but the lake itself is quiet. Bucky spreads the blanket out on the grass and they sit cross-legged on it, facing each other, with the takeout bag between them. 

“I realize this is a bit clichéd,” Steve says ruefully, pulling out a paper-wrapped sandwich and handing it to Bucky. 

Bucky looks up, brow furrowing. “What is?”

“You know.” Steve gestures to the blanket and to the park around them. “A picnic date.”

“Oh.” Bucky fidgets a little and then shrugs. “Well, not to me. I’ve never been on one.”

He seems embarrassed, eyes down on his sandwich as he carefully peels back the paper and folds it neatly. Steve’s immediate instinct is to reassure him and to be honest, he doesn’t have to reach very far to do it. “You know what?” he says. Bucky looks back up, questioning. “Neither have I. Not once. I don’t know why I even said that. Movies, I guess.”

“Ah,” says Bucky expansively. “Cinema. The things we learn.”

“I actually don’t date much,” Steve continues. “I mean, I date casually. I know they gossip at the office about how much I date.” He sighs, shaking his head. “I wanted to talk to you about that, I guess. About what you may have heard.”

Bucky's cheeks go tellingly red, which Steve could have predicted, he supposes. Bucky shrugs. "Some, but I try not to listen to it a lot…"

"It's okay, I know it can be hard to avoid even if you're not participating. I guess I just want you to know that what I'm doing with you is not...that." He lets out a breath, looking at Bucky hopefully.

"Okay." Bucky picks at a pickle dangling off the edge of his sandwich and pops the whole thing in his mouth, crunching on it. "So, if it's not that, then what is it?"

It's such a simple, straightforward question that it catches Steve off guard. "Well...not casual, at least that hasn't been my intention. I haven't wanted any kind of relationship before, any kind of committment or strings. What I've pursued with people in the past has been for fun, for heats or ruts, or just because."

"For sex," says Bucky. 

"Right," he agrees, clearing his throat. "For sex."

"But that's not what we're doing." Bucky meets his gaze, and while Steve can tell he's out of his comfort zone, he's still steady and open and curious. 

"No, Buck," he sighs, a smile pulling at his mouth. "At least, um, not just that, I hope."

Bucky huffs then, ducking his head. "Yeah, me too."

"Does it bother you at all? That I, um, have slept with people from the office? That I've slept with...a number of people." He's not sure if he wants the answer, but he knows he can't not ask. He doesn't want his past to get in the way of their potential future.

“I mean, I did already know about it before we started dating,” Bucky points out. “It doesn’t bother me, Steve. I would never judge you for enjoying sex. And nobody ever—” Bucky pauses, picking at the label on his drink. “Whenever people did talk about you at work, it was clear that you’re professional and respectful. I’m not jealous, or...uncomfortable.”

Steve lets out a breath, nodding. “Okay. If you ever change your mind, or...want to ask me anything, you can.”

“So, this is, um…” Bucky trails off again, mulling over what it is he wants to say. 

Steve waits patiently, trying to quell his jitters. He didn’t exactly plan for any of this; the date was a spur of the moment decision, and while he’s known they needed to talk about this, he didn’t think it would be _today_. Still. It’s good to discuss it sooner rather than later. 

“This is definitely a _relationship_ , then,” Bucky finally says. “We’re dating, um, exclusively, and you’re my—boyfriend. Is that okay to say?”

“Yeah,” says Steve, with a breathless laugh. “Yeah, it is, Buck.”

“Okay,” says Bucky, ducking his head with a happy little smile. 

“Okay,” says Steve. He removes the last container from the bag and sets it down in front of Bucky, giving his hands something to do. “I got you dessert. French silk pie.”

“Oh, fuck _yes_ ,” says Bucky, reaching for it immediately. 

Steve laughs, and they sit in the waning light sharing bites of creamy chocolate and whipped cream, until the sun dips below the horizon and Bucky starts to shiver. They pack up, then, and Steve wraps an arm around Bucky’s shoulders for the leisurely walk back to the street. 

Their relationship really begins to heat up when Steve has Bucky over for a home-cooked dinner a week or so later.

That night, Bucky sleeps over. They don't sleep _together_ , mutually agreed that beyond some heavy makeouts, they're not there yet, but having Bucky in his bed, in his _arms_ , triggers something primal in Steve's brain.

"You can scent me," Bucky mumbles, when Steve's had his nose shoved under Bucky's jaw for several deep, shallow breaths. "You know, _properly_. You don't have to be so polite."

Steve huffs a low chuckle, fingers tightening in Bucky's t-shirt, clutching at his back for a moment. "It's not really about being polite, Buck. Just...want to respect your boundaries."

Bucky squirms in his hold, grasping at Steve's shoulders and then tugging at his hair as he hitches a leg up over Steve's hip. They're on their sides, face to face, and the movement brings Bucky even closer, pressing their bodies together. "Well," sighs Bucky. "I'm telling you there's no boundary there. I...I want to smell like you."

"Yeah?" whispers Steve, trying to keep himself in check at that admission. "You want...want people to know how sweet on you I am?"

Bucky's breath hitches and he nods. "Please?"

Steve doesn't hold back the groan that elicits this time, bringing their lips together for a heated kiss, licking into Bucky's mouth as he opens up so sweetly. Steve spends several long minutes indulging in lazy kisses, sweeping his hands up and down Bucky's body just over his sleep clothes at first. 

But then— 

Then their kiss breaks, and Bucky whines so prettily, his head tipping back against the bed, and Steve finds himself drawn to his throat like a dying man in need of water. He huffs, open-mouthed and greedy, dragging his face across Bucky's skin. Steve didn’t shave today, and his stubble scratches lightly against delicate skin; he knows he'll leave a physical reminder along with his scent. Bucky only moans, hands clutching at Steve's hair as he rolls fully onto his back and brings Steve with him. 

Steve is ravenous with it, letting instinct drive him as he licks and mouths, kisses and sucks, drags his teeth against Bucky's jumping pulse, sucking in deep full breaths through his nose. He rubs his cheek and wrists against Bucky's whole neck and throat and then slides down, tugging at Bucky's shirt until it's off and out of his way. 

He gives his sensitive underarms the same treatment as his throat, kisses his way across his chest, spends long moments snuffling against the base of his belly, just below his navel while Bucky gasps and squirms and clings to his shoulders.

Skimming his fingertips along the top of Bucky's shorts, Steve glances up at him in the dark, illuminated by just the streetlights coming in through the window. "May I scent you here, too?"

Bucky is panting, mouth open and shiny-slick from licking his lips. He nods, but his voice quickly follows, rough and on edge, "Just...just over my shorts, please. Don't take them off."

Steve nods, content with this permission as he allows himself the luxury of nuzzling against Bucky's cock beneath thin layers of his underwear and shorts. The scent of him is thick and strong here, and it won't really be influenced by Steve dragging his cheek against it—it would take more, take Steve marking him up with his come to really scent him here, but Steve takes deep lungfuls, hungry for it, huffing damp breaths against Bucky’s firm length before he finally moves on, sucking a bruise behind Bucky's left knee and another over his right ankle. When he's finally done, Bucky is quivering beneath him, whimpering and rocking up against Steve’s hip.

There's a wet patch on Bucky's shorts, which have tented up over his erection; Steve's nose is full of Bucky's arousal, now, his scent thick with it. He tries to soothe him a little, kissing his way back up Bucky's body and then settling alongside him to kiss his jaw. 

Slowly, Bucky's breathing settles, and Steve lets it shape his own responses, calming down enough to dial back the urge to _possess_. 

"Oh my god," Bucky mumbles, voice a little muffled. 

"You okay?" Steve says gently. 

"Mmhm," hums Bucky. "I just wasn't expecting...Nobody's ever...." He sighs deeply, clutching at Steve. "I didn't know it would feel that good."

Steve turns this over in his head, mouthing absently at Bucky's throat. "It's best if we don't go any further tonight," he says gently. He hesitates, stroking comfortingly at Bucky's hip. "Can I ask you something?"

Bucky huffs a laugh. "If I can rub two brain cells together."

"Bucky, am I your first romantic partner?"

Steve regrets it immediately, when Bucky tenses in his arms and make an embarrassed noise. "Is it that obvious?"

"No, no, god, no, baby." Steve cuddles him, kissing his shoulder and neck and cheek, murmuring reassurances. "Hey, now. Shh. That's not what I meant at all. I'm trying to make sure we're on the same page, okay? And if I am your first, that means this all feels pretty intense for you, right?"

Bucky's hands have crept over his face, hiding, but he nods meekly. 

"That's okay. That's more than okay," murmurs Steve. "I don't want to overwhelm you."

Bucky pushes his face under Steve's chin, against his throat, breathing in deep. It seems to calm him, taking in Steve's scent, and that gives Steve such a sweet feeling of pride, to provide for his Omega—to provide for Bucky. Bucky's not his, not yet, but—

Eventually, Bucky mutters, "I like it, though. I—I like feeling overwhelmed, with you. You make me feel safe."

If Steve could preen right now, he would; as it is, he swallows down his crowing in favor of pressing a kiss to the top of Bucky's head. "I'm glad you feel safe with me. I never want to spoil that by going too fast, though. Is it okay that I want to take my time with you, baby?"

"Yeah," agrees Bucky, breath hitching. "I—I'm really glad that...that I met you."

"Hey." Steve reaches down to tip Bucky's face up so he can see him, his tempting mouth and cute chin. "I'm really glad I met you too."

They kiss again, but this time it's slow and soothing, bringing them closer to sleep as they hold each other.

In the morning, Steve cooks Bucky breakfast and scents him again, though not nearly as thoroughly, before sending him home. 

Bucky has plans with his family today and if Bucky's request for Steve to scent him is any indication, he'll probably be telling them he's seeing someone, now. "Text me if you need me, okay? No matter what time it is."

"I will, I promise." He smiles at Steve. "I thought, um, maybe on Wednesday, you could come to—to my place this time? I'll cook for you."

"I'd love that," says Steve. Something warm unfurls inside him. "Now, you should get going, before I make you late."

Bucky leans in for a goodbye kiss, before Steve bundles him off into a Lyft.

His scent lingers in Steve's apartment for the rest of the day. 

When Steve goes to sleep that night, he shoves his face into the pillow Bucky used and draws the residual sweetness into his lungs.


	4. Part 4: Bucky (need a man who'll take a chance)

The nervous anxiety doesn't fully hit until Bucky's home. 

He deliberately doesn't shower, but he does change his clothes, which ultimately does little to dampen Steve's scent on him. The second he's within ten feet of Becca, she's going to know that he's been intimate with an Alpha. Part of Bucky is so _desperate_ to spill that he's been seeing Steve for the last few weeks, while the rest of him is absolutely dreading the inevitable fallout. 

The thing is, things with Becca are still kind of weird. Since Bucky's little tantrum, she hasn't once showed up out of the blue to give him tupperware containers of food, or made plans for him, or called him every night, or constantly pestered him to call their parents. She's been distant, but it doesn't feel like she took Bucky's words to heart and wants him to feel more independent and less coddled. Instead, it's like she's waiting for Bucky to crack and demand to talk about it, so that he can apologize for his disrespect. 

It's unresolved, is the point. And Bucky's pretty sure it's gonna have to _be_ resolved today. 

He drags his feet a little, stopping to pick up a pie from the bakery on his way to Becca's place. His stomach is full of butterflies, while his brain busily imagines potential arguments. He wants to tell her he's dating, but he doesn't know how to explain that he's dating someone at _work_ who isn't quite his boss, but _is_ kind of his boss. 

It's probably not going to go well. How could it? 

He stands on Becca's doorstep for almost a minute before he takes a deep breath and lets himself in. 

"Hello," he calls, poking his head in and closing the door behind him. "It's me. Becks? Sharon?"

"Uncle Jamie!" greets him, a chorus of shouts and squeals as his nieces and nephew come barreling into the foyer and directly into him. 

"Oof!" he grunts as they knock into him. He grins, barely able to keep on his feet. "Hey munchkins. How's it going?" He manages to get both arms around them, squishing all three kids into a hug. 

When he releases them, the eldest of the twins, Freddie, peers up at him with narrowed eyes and ignores his question, wrinkling her nose and instead saying, “You smell _weird_.”

Oh no. The fact that even the _kids_ can smell Steve on him, with their not yet refined senses, is something Bucky didn’t entirely anticipate. 

He looks up in a panic just in time to see Becca walk in from the living room, her eyebrows shooting up as her own nose crinkles. 

"Um," says Bucky, laughing nervously. "Well, I've...got a new friend that you guys haven't met yet."

"Oh," pipes up Georgia, practically a mirror of her sister. "Like a special friend?"

"Uh," he begins, mortified. “Well—” 

“I don’t get it,” says Danny. “What’s special about them?”

"Kids,” interrupts Becca. “Why don't you go get cleaned up for lunch. Leave Uncle Jamie alone.” Her voice is firm and Bucky can hear the little extra kick of Alpha authority. 

"Ooookay," they chorus, leaving Bucky alone as they clamor up the stairs. 

Becca's eyes haven't left him, staring him down. "You need the Heimlich maneuver again today?"

"No." He clears his throat. He'd forgotten about that. How could he forget about that? She's going to know it's his boss right away now. "I've started seeing someone."

"Someone being...your boss." She crosses her arms. "My nose hasn't gotten that wrong, right? It's the same Alpha you rushed to assure me hadn't been inappropriate, that he was only saving you from choking?"

Bucky's cheeks feel so hot. "He _was_ only saving me from choking. We—we didn't start dating until three weeks ago."

"Three _weeks_ and you're only just now telling us?"

"What did you want me to do?" Bucky says defensively. "Tell you after the first date, when I wasn't even sure if it was going to _be_ a relationship? I was waiting it out, seeing if it was even worth talking about!"

"Judging by how you smell, it's worth talking about," Becca says, an edge to her voice. She's turning up her nose at him, face crinkled theatrically. "You reek. What did he do, roll in you?"

"I don't have to answer that," Bucky says tightly, drawing himself up. He's clutching the pie in his hands, palms sweating. "You don't have to be so rude."

Becca sweeps her gaze over him, head to toe, and turns around to go into the kitchen. "Come put that pie down."

Bucky doesn't want to, because she phrased it like an order, but he feels compelled, trailing helplessly after her. In the kitchen, she takes the pie from him, setting it down on the counter. 

"Wash up," she says briskly.

"Stop that," he snaps, frozen in the doorway. "Stop giving me orders."

"Fine. Please wash your hands, Jamie." Becca straightens up, arms crossed. "I need help with lunch."

He walks stiffly to the sink, turning on the tap. "Where's Sharon?"

"She ran to the store to get some wine."

"Oh."

Silence falls heavily over them. He honestly thought he wouldn't be alone with Becca like this. Neither of his other sisters are here yet, and his other buffer, Sharon, is out. Convenient. 

"I don't really need to tell you what a bad idea it is to date an executive, do I?" says Becca. "I really thought you were smarter than this. I'm worried about you, Jamie. Ever since you started this job..."

"What?" interrupts Bucky. "You haven't been able to control me?"

"That's _enough_ ," she snaps. "Since when is it controlling you? You used to seek out my advice! Now, I swear, you do the opposite just because it came from me!"

"Because I'm _not_ seeking your advice out anymore! If I wanted it or needed it, I would ask." Bucky wipes his hands on a towel and tosses it onto the counter, crossing his own arms. "So yeah, it is controlling because you're mad I don't need your input on every little thing I do."

"Every little thing..." she mutters, incredulous. "Would you listen to yourself? It hasn't been little things! You quit your job out of nowhere, not so much as a standard two weeks notice, to take this job at another company you didn't even apply for! Then you get so sick and upset you need to go home, and you won't listen to a word I have to say about it. And then finally, you start dating the executive at this new job!"

"None of which you have any reason to give me advice on without me asking for said advice! It's not your life and you're not my Alpha. You're my sister!" Bucky realizes abruptly that he's shouting at the look on Becca's face, and he drops his volume self-consciously. "You're my sister, Becca, and I love you, and I _do_ value your opinion, but sometimes I don't want or need it and you have to be okay with that."

"Oh, I do, do I?" Becca asks, brittle. She almost looks like she's about to cry, which is ridiculous. Out of the two of them, Bucky is the crier. 

He opens his mouth to snap back, but forces himself to take a breath, instead. This keeps happening. They keep picking away at each other, preying on each other's insecurities. They keep _not talking_ about it. "When we fought the first time, you said that you act like this because I'm afraid."

Becca's brow furrows. "You are."

"You said," Bucky continues forcefully, "That I'm afraid of having a life. That you try to protect me, because you think I'll get hurt by whoever finally gives me the attention I'm so desperate to get."

"Like this executive at your job," says Becca. "Exactly."

"His name is Steve," says Bucky, his voice cracking a little. "He's not just some guy. I really like him. But that doesn't mean I'm about to forget myself because someone is interested in me. You say you're worried about me, because I'm naive, and inexperienced, but you don't trust me at all. I might be afraid a lot, but when I do take risks, you shame me just as much as when I'm cautious. I quit my horrible job because I got a better opportunity. I made a change. Why does that bother you so much?"

"I want you to be secure," says Becca, but she doesn't sound so certain.

"I am taking up space," Bucky says. "This is me, taking up space. You can't eviscerate my personality and then get just as mad when I try to do things for myself."

"Jamie—" she begins, but she breaks off and she shakes her head, looking away as she takes several calming breaths. "You're just so... When you were little, you would follow me around with these wide eyes. You had to be everywhere I was, doing everything I was doing. I used to think you'd be a beta, just like the girls. I never even imagined—but even then you were precious and charming and trusting. And so I protected you. I've always protected you, because I know what can happen to compassionate, trusting Omegas like you, and—"

"That's not what I need anymore, that's not—"

"Please let me finish," she says, but her voice is soft when she says it, tired. Bucky flushes guiltily but nods. "I've always protected you and I always will. That's not negotiable because I love you. I can't just turn that off even if it's—it's a lot harder to keep you safe when you're not trailing behind me, following my lead. But I hear you, okay? I hear you when you say that you need to make your own choices and find your own path, and I'm sorry that—that I tried to make you stay where it was easiest for me instead of supporting where you want to go."

Bucky is stunned. He's _definitely_ crying now. 

He didn't think he'd ever hear anything like this from Becca, not in a million years. He figured the best he could hope for was a grudging acceptance, but not an apology, a true and real one. He wipes at his eyes. "Apology accepted and—and I'm sorry if you felt like I didn't want you looking out for me at all. I do, you know. I love that I can always come here, that I'm always safe when I'm with you. I just want to find other places to feel safe and good, places of my own."

Becca nods, giving him a tentative smile. It’s noteworthy because Becca has never looked tentative in her life. "Can we hug, please?"

Bucky immediately dives across the kitchen to hug her tight.

Wrapped up in his big sister's arms, finally feeling the stress of conflict melt away for the first time in weeks, Bucky gives into the urge to cling and be needy. He buries his face in her shoulder, snuffling at her bright, citrus scent. If some tears leak into her sweater, nobody else needs to know. 

"I love you so much, baby," Becca murmurs into his ear. She kisses his temple, nose pressed to his hair. Her breaths huff over his skin, scenting him gently, comfortingly, but not possessively. She's not trying to wipe out Steve's scent. "I want you to be happy and I want you to be able to tell me what's happening in your life. I promise I'll work harder on giving you the space you need."

"I know," mumbles Bucky, voice watery. "I love you, too. I am happy. I'm really happy. Even if Steve wasn't there, I love my job, too. It's a lot better for me. I can tell they appreciate me."

"They better," says Becca. She kisses him again, gives him one final squeeze, and then they separate. 

Bucky ducks his head to rub at his eyes. "I really hate fighting with you."

"Me too," says Becca, ruffling his hair. "Sharon said I needed to give you time and it just about killed me. I wanted to come over and camp out in your kitchen until you talked to me."

Bucky huffs in surprise. "I thought you were holding out so that I'd crack first."

"Ha!" cackles Becca. "I'm going to tell her she was wrong."

"No, no, she was right," Bucky says, grinning at her. "I just didn't expect you'd ever listen."

"You little punk," says Becca, but it's so warm and fond, Bucky immediately steps back into her arms for another hug.

They hug a while longer until they hear the front door open and close and Sharon's voice calling out, "I'm back!"

Becca gives him one more firm kiss on the cheek and then says, "Why don't you—" and then she stops, chagrined, giving Bucky a smile, "I mean, do you want to go see if she needs help and then check on the kiddos?"

Bucky nods, heading off to do just that. 

He ends up agreeing to stay the night, though Becca is careful not to pressure him. It feels good to not be resentful anymore. On Monday morning, Becca drives him back to his apartment so he can take a shower and get ready for work. 

Even after he’s showered and dressed in clean clothes, Bucky still smells vaguely like family and like _Steve_ ; when he arrives at work, he wonders whether the jig is finally up. If Steve's face is anything to go by as he delivers Bucky's now daily morning coffee and pastry, it might be. His expression goes from friendly and open to heated and hungry the second he takes a breath near Bucky. He clears his throat then, blinking quickly. "Buck, uh, good morning."

"Good morning," says Bucky, smiling up at him. "I was going to ask if you could still smell your scent on me but I’ll take that look to mean the answer is yes."

Steve swallows. "Uh huh." Taking another deep breath, he clears his throat again and sets the coffee down. "Um, I hope...that's okay with you? People might...notice."

Bucky bites his lip. "I think so? I told my family yesterday. It went really well."

"Yeah? That's good."

"I think so." Bucky opens the fancy box that contains a big, fragrant cinnamon roll inside, warm and gooey. Steve went someplace special today, not just the downstairs cafe. It makes Bucky warm inside. "I won’t answer any questions about it, if anyone asks. I just don't want to worry about hiding it. I like the way I feel, carrying your scent with me."

Bucky can tell, just by looking at Steve's blown out pupils, that he _really_ likes that idea too. 

"I'm really glad," Steve says hoarsely. He clears his throat, visibly snapping himself out of the Alpha haze their mingled scents tripped him into. He inhales shallowly, nostrils flaring, and then exhales gently, nodding. "Let me know if you need anything today. I'll....talk to you later, Buck."

"Okay," says Bucky. "Thank you for breakfast."

Steve propels himself away from Bucky's desk, his reluctance clear, and disappears into his office. When he's gone, Bucky centers himself with a deep, slow breath, and takes a sip of his coffee. The cinnamon bun smells _incredible_. He peels a piece off and pops it into his mouth, groaning at the decadent flavor. 

His first half hour of the day is always very peaceful, with no one at his pod of desks showing up until nine. He's finished half the bun and most of his coffee by that point, and he's gotten his inbox down to 0. It's Clint that appears first, dropping his bag and coat at his desk before his head pops up again and he turns to Bucky with raised eyebrows. 

"Hey," says Clint. His sniffs at the air but doesn't say anything. 

Bucky sips calmly at his coffee. "Hey. What's up?"

"Nothing," says Clint. He's staring at Bucky like he wants to say something, but his expression is open, nonjudgmental. It's _curious_ , if anything. "That looks good." He jerks his chin at Bucky's demolished cinnamon bun.

"It is," says Bucky. He shows Clint the box. "It's from this bakery. I've never tried it before but it's really good. 10/10, would recommend."

Clint looks at the box and then back at Bucky and says, "I'll have to check that out."

Bucky bobs his head. "Need anything this morning?"

"No," returns Clint. "Um..."

"Yes?" Bucky smiles, almost...enjoying this. It's kind of funny.

"Nothing. Sorry, I—brain fart. I'm gonna..." he hooks his thumb over his shoulder. "Talk to you later."

"Later." Bucky grins as Clint turns away to start his day. 

He has no less than four other encounters that play out in almost the exact same way. 

People get one whiff of him and _want_ to ask but they're all just too damn polite to do it. Bucky and Steve's lack of confirmation beyond a light scent could mean anything, and no one wants to be the asshole to ask. 

He sees Steve briefly around lunch when he makes sure the meeting he’s in is all set up with food. Steve looks like he's been holding back laughter all day and as soon as Bucky catches his eyes, he almost breaks, ducking his head and pulling out his phone.

Moments after Bucky returns to his desk, he gets a text.

 **Steve** : okay this is way funnier than I thought it would be  
**Bucky** : i know! I've had four people start to ask and then stop abruptly, tell me they lost their train of thought, and wander off. 😂  
**Steve** : I'm kind of proud  
**Steve** : Nobody wants to be inappropriate. Good for them! Good for us!  
**Bucky** : I'm certainly enjoying myself

Natasha appears just before Bucky's getting ready to go home, a smug little smirk on her face. "You seem like you're in a good mood," she murmurs. 

"I'm having a really nice day," says Bucky. 

"Yeah?" Natasha raises a perfectly groomed eyebrow. "Everyone is being respectful?"

"I don't know what you're referring to," Bucky says blithely. "Why wouldn't people be respectful?"

Natasha's smile turns distinctly indulgent. "Good point. I'd want to know if they weren't, though."

"And I'd tell you," agrees Bucky. 

"Good," says Natasha. "Have a good night, Bucky." She strides off, Bucky warmed by her concern. He's packing up his bag when Steve's scent fills his nose. He looks up to find Steve packed up as well, jacket over his arm, bag dangling from his shoulder.

"Steve," says Bucky. It comes out breathless, like Bucky is the love interest in a romance novel. Heat immediately floods his cheeks and he clears his throat. "Hey."

"Need a ride home?" Steve murmurs. "I'm heading out early tonight."

Bucky hesitates a moment. He wants to have Steve over to cook for him on Wednesday, but it would be so nice to see him _tonight_ , too. Who is Bucky kidding? He always wants to be around Steve, and it's a constant battle to resist the urge to hang around for him to be done for the day, just on the off chance that he'll do what he's doing now and offer Bucky a ride. 

But this is Steve offering because he's leaving early, because he can, and he wants to give Bucky a ride. So surely that's okay? Nodding quickly, Bucky says, "I'd like that."

Steve's answering smile is brilliant and wide. "You all ready?"

Pulling on his jacket, Bucky shoulders his messenger bag. "Yes."

Subtly, Steve holds out his hand, eyebrow raised. Oh. Oh that's— 

With his heart beating loudly, Bucky takes it, walking with Steve to the elevators. He doesn't look back to see if anyone is looking, if anyone notices. Once inside, it's just them, and Steve turns his body towards him, lifting Bucky's hand to his mouth to press his lips to Bucky's knuckles. "Thanks for letting me take you home, baby."

Bucky’s got fireworks going off in his chest. "Thanks for asking. I know you're coming over on Wednesday, but if you wouldn't mind takeout, I'd love to have you over tonight, too?"

He's not quite sure where the bravery comes from, but Steve's expression makes it all worth it. "Oh, I know the perfect place to order in from," says Steve by way of an answer. "How do you feel about sushi?"

Bucky feels pretty good about sushi, which is exactly what he tells Steve.

Halfway home, though, Bucky panics a little. This decision was _spontaneous_. Bucky isn't a spontaneous person. Bucky makes plans ahead of time, so that he can't be caught off guard. Bucky prepares for visitors by cleaning his apartment from top to bottom.

Which. He hasn't. Done. 

His soul briefly projects out of his body as he frantically catalogs the state of his apartment. There's a basket of laundry on the floor of his bedroom he's been taking clothes out of, because he didn't feel like folding it last week. There are dishes in the sink. He can't remember if he made his bed because he hasn't been home in _two days_. Is Steve going to see his bedroom? Is Steve going to _stay the night_? Does he have a spare toothbrush?!

"Buck?" murmurs Steve, jerking him out of his spiral. "You okay?"

"My apartment is a mess," he blurts. 

"Is that what you're worried about?" says Steve. "If it makes you feel better, I'll wait outside for a few minutes."

Relief sweeps through Bucky like cool spring rain. "Really?" he asks weakly. 

"I don't mind," says Steve. "Where should I park?"

Bucky guides him, and they get out together, Steve with a hand at the small of Bucky's back as they go inside. When they reach Bucky's door, he unlocks it and grins apologetically at Steve. "I'll be five minutes, max. Thank you. Sorry."

Thankfully, his apartment is in a much better state than he remembered, which makes sense. He knew he wouldn't be back Saturday night and not until late Sunday evening, if at all, so it seems his past self made the bed and put away all the dishes. At worst, he has dirty clothes and a towel on the bathroom floor from the hurried shower he took this morning. He scoops them up and puts them in the hamper and then shoves the clean clothes basket into the closet. With one last glance around, he goes back to the door and pulls it open. 

Steve is waiting for him on the other side, looking up from his phone. "I pulled up the app to order. I already plugged in what I want, you wanna do the same?" 

Bucky accepts the phone and a kiss on the cheek, stepping aside. "Sure, come on in."

"Shoes off?" he asks, already toeing out of them when Bucky nods. "Oh, I like your place, Buck. It's real nice."

"You think?" He glances around again. It's tiny, but he's tried to make it homey, welcoming. It's his, through and through, just his scent lives here, and it's always felt so nice to have a place outside of the world where no one was trying to mark him up with theirs. Except, now he's invited Steve here. _Wants_ Steve's scent here, of all places. 

Steve hums. "Yeah, I like it. It's very you." His nose flares as he takes a deep breath, eyes darkening. "Thank you for having me here."

"You're welcome," breathes Bucky, ducking his head as he tries to concentrate on selecting what rolls and sides he wants. He chooses three types of maki and some miso soup and hands the phone back to Steve. 

Steve barely seems to glance at the total, tapping away to submit the order and then tucks it back into his pocket. "Alright, should be here in about 45 minutes."

"Oh, good." Bucky shifts awkwardly, trying to think of what to say or do. He's got Steve here, unplanned, and now what's he supposed to do with him? "Um, I've got some beer, I think? Would you like one?"

"Sure, or water's fine, if you don't," says Steve, voice going soft. "You know you don't have to put yourself out on my account."

"I'm not putting myself out," says Bucky, face hot. He wants to be a good host, make sure Steve is comfortable and taken care of, especially considering Steve paid for their dinner. 

It's a weird realization. Bucky's pretty at peace with his instincts; he knows it makes him feel good to ensure the people around him are happy and cared for. He's okay with that, because nobody has ever tried to make him feel like it was _required_ of him just because he's an Omega. Bucky has a lot of conflicted feelings regarding his designation, but wanting to make people comfortable isn't one of the things that bothers him. 

It's a weird realization _because_ he's sure Steve has a strong instinct to make sure _Bucky_ is happy and cared for. They're just feeding into each other, right now, the desire between them so strong that it's practically palpable. 

"Bucky?" Steve's voice is deep and warm, a low rumble, and Bucky blinks, shivering. 

"Hmm?" He focuses on Steve. They're standing really close together. Did Bucky move? Did Steve? "Oh. A beer. I'll just—"

"Bucky. Can I kiss you instead?" asks Steve. 

" _God_ , yes," says Bucky, stepping right into Steve. 

Their lips meet, and then Steve's arms come up to steady him, solid and strong. Bucky pushes up on his toes to angle up into the kiss, leaning into Steve and clutching at his waist. 

This is what he wants to do with Steve. They can have a drink later, when the food comes. Right now, though, he wants to put his hands on him.

Bucky's not sure if he pushes or Steve pulls or maybe both of them are moving in sync, but somehow Steve is backed into the nearby couch, sitting down heavily and Bucky following right along. He's never done anything like this before. All of their kissing has been reasonably tame in comparison, even when they laid in Steve's bed together. 

This feels different.

This feels desperate and needy. Bucky straddles Steve's hips and sits down in his lap, tangling his fingers in Steve's hair, as he kisses and kisses and kisses until he has to rip his mouth away to pant, head tipped back. Steve's mouth finds his pulse, then, hot, damp puffs of air before the slick heat of his tongue glides over Bucky's skin. 

"Steve," he pleads, though what he’s pleading for doesn’t matter. He just wants it from this beautiful, perfect man. "Steve, I—you make me feel so good."

Steve rumbles, a low growl that draws a shiver from Bucky. "Yeah? You feel good, sugar? That's all I want, to make you feel so good." His hands squeeze Bucky's hips and Bucky jerks against him like an electric shock is coursing through him. 

"Yeah, yes, I do," he insists, nodding. He leans forward to pepper kisses across Steve's face, while Steve stares up at him with dazed eyes, like Bucky hung the moon. "Want—wanna—" he breaks off, panting. Still meeting Steve's eyes, he licks his lips, gratified at the way Steve clutches at him. "Need you."

"Oh, Buck," groans Steve. His hands tighten reflexively on Bucky's hips again, while his hips jerk under Bucky. It's a restrained movement, careful not to rut into Bucky's body, but the look in his eyes as they darken, irises eaten up by his dilating pupils, is anything but restrained. 

"Please," begs Bucky. "Please, Steve."

Steve makes a soft, desperate sound. He reaches up to cup Bucky's jaw in his big hand, tipping his chin into a kiss so soft that Bucky whines into it, trembling. "What do you need?" Steve says roughly, voice low and deep. "What can I give you?"

"I don't—" Bucky is breathless. "I don't know, please!"

"Let's find out," Steve says firmly. He teases at Bucky’s lips with his teeth when he kisses him, sharp nips and tugs, little bursts of bright pleasure. The sudden image of Steve’s mouth elsewhere on his body, between his legs, on the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, nearly bowls him over. Arousal blooms hot at the very core of him, jeans suddenly too tight as his cock fattens up. 

Steve's nostrils flare in response, because he can _smell_ it on him, and Bucky shudders, overwhelmed as he remembers being so _thoroughly_ scented the other night. 

He'd almost come all over himself just from that. If Steve had accidentally brushed against him, if he'd snuffled between Bucky's legs any longer, he would have spilled right into his shorts from indirect touch like a horny teenager. 

"Please," he gasps. "Steve, please, oh, please, can you—"

"What is it, sweetheart?" rumbles Steve, thumb brushing over Bucky's chin to tip his face up. "Tell me?"

"Please, will you touch me?" He rocks his hips a little, practically vibrating out of his skin. " _Please_?"

"I'll touch you any way you want," breathes Steve, low and rough against Bucky's mouth, before he kisses him again. "How do you want it, huh? How can I touch you?"

Bucky lets out a frustrated little sob, rocking against Steve again. "Between my legs!" he gasps, mindless with the tightness in his gut, the throbbing in his cock. "My _dick_ ," he barely whispers. "I—please? Steve, I need it, need you, want—"

"Shh, shh," hushes Steve, kissing him again. "I've got you, I'll take care of you."

Bucky's face burns as he tries to get ahold of himself, to sit still for Steve to unbutton his jeans, slide his big hand inside of Bucky's pants, his underwear, until warm fingers wrap around his erection. Slick has gathered between his legs, too, messy and wet, and a thick spurt of precome drips from the tip of his cock as Steve gives it a squeeze. 

It draws a whimper from Bucky, another heedless moan. No one has ever touched him before, only his own hand has ever moved tight and fast over his length in a desperate bid for release. This time though, it's Steve, it's an Alpha, with his big hand, steady and strong, gripping Bucky just right, Steve's mouth on his jaw and his throat, whispering in his ear. 

"You smell so good, so delicious. You have no idea, Buck, I want to swallow you down, taste every drop."

A hot swoop of desire courses through him, red hot lust that makes his dick jump in Steve's grip. Bucky presses forward, pushing his forehead against Steve's throat, rubbing against him, marking him right back, needing their scents mixed together. " _Steve_ , oh god—"

"That's it, baby, that's my good boy. Come on, let me make you feel good, let me give you what you need," murmurs Steve.

Bucky _sobs_ , completely overstimulated. 

It's over embarrassingly quickly. He doesn't have time to even think about not humping into Steve's hand like he's mindless in heat, because the second Steve really gets going, jerking him off with broad, firm strokes, Bucky crumbles like a sandcastle at high tide. Steve's scent is thick in his nose, filling his head with dizzyingly rich vanilla and nutmeg, and he's _touching_ him, talking to him, a warm rumble of praise and affection. There's just nothing to hold him back. 

He tenses up, molten pleasure coiled tight at the base of his gut, and then it releases, flooding his body and turning his knees to jelly. 

"That's it," croons Steve, kissing him and wrapping his free hand around Bucky to steady him as he sways forward. "There you go. You needed that, huh? Must have been building for a while. I've got you. I'll give you whatever you want, okay?"

Bucky can't speak. The effort of putting words together into sentences is too much, so he just sags into Steve's arms, burying his face in his shoulder and panting raggedly. He's held tightly, stroked and soothed and petted, so perfectly safe in Steve's lap that he never wants to move again. 

Which is exactly when their takeout arrives, buzzing Bucky's intercom. 

"Fuck," Bucky mumbles. 

"Shhh, don't worry." Steve stands, scooping Bucky up with him like he doesn't weigh a single goddamn thing. Bucky has the wherewithal to cinch his knees around Steve's hips to hold on, but it's barely necessary with how strong Steve is. "Can I take you to your bedroom?"

"Uh huh." Bucky points at his door.

Steve carries him in, plopping Bucky down on his bed with a soft kiss to his forehead. "Be right back to help you clean up, okay?"

Bucky can only hum, floating contentedly. He's had orgasms before, of course he has, but just like everything else he's experienced with Steve, nothing has ever been like this before. Distantly, he hears Steve buzzing up the delivery person, the door opening, the quick exchange of pleasantries before the door closes again. He hears Steve set the bag down and then walk across his apartment, the water running briefly—all these sounds of him existing in Bucky's space, like he's meant to be there. 

It settles him, makes him feel grounded as his breathing evens out. When Steve reappears, it's with a washcloth he must have found. "Can I clean you up, baby?"

Bucky nods, relieved that he's probably so flushed, a new blush isn't going to show. Steve bends down and kisses his temple before he carefully wipes up the mess on Bucky's stomach and in his pants, gentle but thorough. Then he dumps the cloth in the hamper and asks, "Do you want to change before we eat?"

"Um, yes, but I can—" He pushes himself up shakily, scooting toward the edge of the bed to sit. "I can do it."

"Hey, I know you can." Steve comes over, warm hand on Bucky's shoulder, steadying him. "But I want to help. May I?"

It's so wildly different than the way his family treats him, never asking, always just doing, it makes Bucky so happy, tears spring to his eyes that he has to blink away. He doesn't trust himself to speak again so he nods instead. 

"Thank you, sweetheart. Are pajamas okay? Maybe something flannel and comfy?" The question is oddly reassuring. 

Bucky takes a deep breath and it only hitches once. "Um, yeah, in the second drawer of my dresser."

Steve retrieves a pair and then with steady hands, he helps Bucky undress and slip into the blue and green plaid pants and the blue shirt, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind Bucky's ear when he's all done. "There, that's better. You ready to eat now?"

"Yes, please," answers Bucky, feeling both a thousand percent better and more stable and also a million times more attracted to Steve, in every way.

Steve gives Bucky a warm smile that makes his insides go soft and wobbly. Bucky returns the smile, then Steve reaches out to cup his jaw, steadying Bucky to press a kiss to his forehead. "Want me to carry you?"

 _God_. Okay. What is even _happening_ to him right now? His arms and legs work, he doesn't _need_ help dressing himself or walking, but if Steve is offering...

"Yes," he admits softly, gut swooping at the admission. 

Steve doesn't even blink. He tucks his arms behind Bucky's back and under his knees and plucks him up off the bed like he's carrying Bucky over the threshold of a church. Cradled against Steve's broad chest, he's almost disappointed when Steve puts him down onto the couch. Bucky sighs, pulling his legs up under him to sit cross-legged, while Steve unpacks their food. 

"Want me to put something on?" asks Bucky. "A movie, or something?"

"If you want," says Steve, handing him a container of rolls. "I don't mind either way. I like just talking to you."

Heat suffuses Bucky's cheeks. At the back of his mind, he's always worried about long, awkward silences with people he's still getting to know, feeling responsible for the other person's enjoyment, especially in his own space. He wants to talk to Steve, spend time with him, but putting on a movie takes the pressure off a little. He's also Extremely Aware of the fact that he got to come while Steve didn't, and now they've just moved on to dinner, and was that rude? Is he being rude right now? 

He's sitting there, holding a set of wooden chopsticks, frozen with indecision, when Steve says, "You're thinking so loud I can hear the gears grinding."

"Sorry," says Bucky, embarrassed. Is he distressed? Can Steve smell it on him?

"You don't have to be sorry."

"I'm just so nervous," Bucky admits.

"Do you want to tell me what you're nervous about?" Steve hums softly, popping a roll that's doused in soy sauce and wasabi into his mouth. He chews while he waits for Bucky's answer, and Bucky squirms under the scrutiny while still finding it nice, being the center of Steve's attention like this. 

"I guess we usually have a plan, when we're together, and now we don't. This is also the first time I’ve had you over to my place, and I'm worried that the more time we spend together, the more you'll be disappointed or, uh." He shrugs, averting his gaze to stare down at his food. "Find me boring."

"Hey," says Steve, voice chiding but gentle. "I could never find you boring, okay? Everything about you makes me happy. I just want to get to know you better. I love spending time with you, can’t get enough of you, really. Told you, I'm real sweet on you, Buck."

Bucky feels a little lightheaded with joy. His face must be red as a tomato again but he just smiles. "Me too, Steve."

"Good, now, eat up. You used a lot of energy today," he says with a wink.

Bucky flushes, ducking his head and concentrating on his tray of sushi. 

Steve _touched_ his cock. No one else has ever done that before. Bucky came in his hand. As much as he's been focused on how much he smells like Steve and the novelty of being scented by him, the reverse is also true. Bucky's scent is all over Steve, too. There's no mistaking it now. 

He likes that. He really, really likes that. He likes Steve on his couch, too, thoughtfully chewing on maki rolls, he likes Steve in his space, smelling like him. He wants Steve _in his bed_. If Steve stays the night, Bucky can return the favor, right? 

"Spend the night with me?" he blurts. 

Steve lifts his head from his food, eyebrows raised. He chews and swallows, looking at Bucky contemplatively. "You okay with going into work together tomorrow?"

"We left together today," Bucky points out. 

"That we did. If you want me to stay the night, Buck, then I'd love to," says Steve.

And the thing is, it gets more and more satisfying. They finish their food, and Steve just starts to clean up, carrying their recycling and trash into Bucky's kitchen, moving around in there like he's at home. Bucky eventually does put on a movie, and Steve sits on the couch and opens his arms, cuddling Bucky into his chest as they watch. When Bucky starts to yawn, they get ready for bed, and something in Bucky's brain shorts out a little when he emerges from the bathroom to find Steve standing there in his boxers, turning down the bed. 

He's right there! He's right there, in Bucky's room, getting ready to crawl into bed, and that means Bucky's bed is going to smell like him after he leaves. 

"Hi," he says breathlessly.

Steve looks up, expression soft. "Hi, Buck."

"Are you all set? I can turn off the lights, I mean." He gestures at the light switch. 

"Yeah, I'm ready." He switches on the bedside lamp and climbs under the covers. 

Bucky peeks out into the living room, checking that the deadbolt is locked and the chain is secure, before he closes the bedroom door and turns off the overhead light. He crawls into bed while Steve watches him with that same affectionate expression that makes everything feel too warm. 

When they're both tucked under Bucky's blankets, pressed side by side, Bucky rolls into him, snuggling his head up on Steve's broad shoulder, hand fluttering over his chest for a moment, uncertain. Steve's hand comes up and catches Bucky's, tangling their fingers together and resting them over his heart. Steve's lips press to his brow. "Hey, are you sure you're okay with sharing your bed with me? I can still go home, sweetheart. There's no pressure, you know."

Bucky huffs. The way he's stretched out, half on top of Steve, Steve's scent is thick in every breath he takes. He doesn't want Steve to leave. Especially when Steve already shared _his_ bed with Bucky. "I know there's no pressure. I promise. I just—" Squirming a bit to push himself up so he can look down at Steve's face, Bucky takes another steadying breath. "You know I'm new at this, and you've been so kind and patient with me—"

"Because that's what you deserve, Buck, there's nothing special about respecting your boundaries. Anyone you're with should." Steve is always so sincere, it makes Bucky's heart feel like it might explode.

"I know that, I do. I swear, I just meant that sometimes I want things. And I don't know how to ask for them, because I've never done it before and I don't know if you want me to or if you'd even be comfortable with me asking." He can feel another wretched blush threatening as he gets out the well-rehearsed words. He's been looping them over in his head while he got ready for bed but now he's not sure if he got them right after all. 

"Sugar," murmurs Steve, the endearment putting Bucky at ease, like a warm cup of cocoa or when someone wraps a blanket around him on the couch. "Please believe me, I want you to ask for anything you want. If it's something I'm not comfortable with, I'll tell you, and we'll talk about it." Steve leans up and kisses his cheek, adding, "I promise."

Bucky nods, biting his lip as he thinks about the way Steve made him feel earlier, the whispered words and the shivery orgasm. He wants so badly to give that to Steve, too. "Okay, then...I want you to...to tell me how to suck your cock."

He hears and feels Steve's soft intake of breath. "I'm not going to insult you by asking if you're sure," Steve murmurs after a moment, his voice a little hoarse. "I just want to reiterate that I don't need you to do that."

"I know," says Bucky. "It's what I want, as long as you'd let me do that." He's hit with a surge of insecurity, embarrassed by his inexperience. This isn't what Steve's used to. He's been _so_ patient with Bucky, but now he's asking to basically practice this on Steve. He _could_ just use his hands; it's not like he doesn't know how to jerk _himself_ off. But what he really _wants_ is to use his mouth, to breathe Steve in, to taste him. "If...if you even want that."

Steve makes a soft noise, sliding a hand up Bucky's back, curling into his hair and cradling the back of his head. "'Course I do. I want you, Buck."

"You make me feel so good," Bucky whispers. "I want to make you feel good, too." 

"Can I have a kiss, first?" Steve asks sweetly. 

It's an innocent question that soothes him. He leans right into Steve, lips meeting for a warm, comforting kiss. When they part, Bucky's a little more confident, scooting under the covers to nose his way down Steve's body. It goes right to his head; Steve smells _so good_ , scent thick under the covers. Bucky's _mouth waters_ like Steve himself is dessert.

Steve's breathing picks up, and as Bucky settles himself between Steve's legs, braced over his hips, Steve sweeps a warm, heavy hand over Bucky's spine. Listens to the hitch in his lungs as Bucky nuzzles at his cock through his boxers, half-hard and so hot against his cheek. 

"Steve," whispers Bucky. He tucks his fingers into the waistband and tugs questioningly. 

"You don't have to take them off," Steve says roughly. "Just tuck 'em...under. Less fuss." He's being so careful not to move, to not _push_ , letting Bucky do this at his own pace. Which he does, licking his lips as he pulls Steve's boxers down just enough to free his cock. 

Steve sighs a little when Bucky wraps his hand around the base. He’s drunk on the sensation, the weight of Steve in his hand, the heat of his skin. He darts his tongue out and licks eagerly at the head, and Steve twitches involuntarily and makes a sound that gets caught in his throat, a hurt breath that barely escapes with a soft, " _Hhuh_."

It makes Bucky feel powerful, Steve's cock filling in his grip, against his mouth as he kisses it at the tip and down the length until his lips meet his hand. He takes another deep, gratifying breath, letting it out in hot gush of air against Steve's skin.

"Oh, Buck," gasps Steve. "Sweetheart."

Bucky noses at Steve's groin for a moment, snuffling at the thick hair nestled at the base, then moving down until his mouth and tongue drag against Steve's swiftly tightening balls. He's dizzy with it, overwhelmed by Steve's scent while he squeezes and jerks Steve's cock, noting the odd sensation of Steve's soft knot at the base of his very stiff cock. Bucky's known about the differences in an Alpha's cock since 9th grade sex-ed, but he finds himself mesmerized, moving back to Steve's cock with interest.

He mouths at it, licks and experiments, satisfied by the groans and gasps coming from Steve, from the way he's so obviously struggling to keep his hips still, the flutter of his hands on Bucky's shoulders and the back of his neck, always quick to move away like he's afraid of making Bucky feel directed. Bucky's grateful and he wants Steve to know it.

He licks the tip again, chasing a the drop of precome that wells up there, and Steve moans his name.

It's such a thrill, it's all _so good_. 

So of course, Bucky finds a way to ruin it. 

It's just that he gets...eager. Overeager, maybe. He opens his mouth to take Steve in, and it's fine at first. Good, even. Steve tastes good, he smells good, and Bucky wants more of him. He wants to make Steve come. 

He sucks hard, minding his teeth the best he can, sliding his mouth down, and up, down, and up.

Down again. And—

Steve's cock hits the back of his throat, too deep, and Bucky is _not_ expecting the way it engages his gag reflex.

He chokes. 

Bucky's reaction is so strong and so immediate that the only thing he could possibly be grateful for in this mortifying moment is that he doesn't actually throw up on Steve's dick. 

Instead, he just retches dry, which actually forces Steve's dick deeper down his throat for one brief, dizzying moment, before he rears back and explodes into a wet, hacking cough. Tears spill down his cheeks, face burning as he shudders, bent over Steve's body like a gargoyle. He's so deep in his suffering, throat aching, that he barely registers Steve's hands on him, stroking his back, murmuring gently to him. 

"Oh my god," Bucky sputters, voice wrecked. He covers his face with both hands, lungs still desperately trying to evict the phantom press of Steve's dick from his throat. His mouth keeps producing saliva, a bit escaping down his chin while he subsides into gentle wheezing. "Oh, _god_ , I'm so sorry."

"Hey, c'mere," urges Steve, his hands curling around Bucky's arms, tugging lightly. "C'mon, sweetheart, it's okay."

Bucky's breath is still rasping and wet as he allows himself to be shuffled up, wiping at his own face. There are real tears mixed in with his watering eyes, now, and he doesn't miss the surreptitious way Steve tucks his cock back into his boxers before sitting up to wrap his arms around Bucky. God, Bucky's never been more humiliated in his _life_. 

"It's not okay!" he croaks. "I just—god, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry you're dating someone who doesn't even know how to—who can't even make you feel good." 

"Shh," hushes Steve, rubbing his back, pressing kisses into his hair. "Don't cry, baby, please? It was just an accident. You're learning, and that's okay. Got nothing to be sorry for, I swear."

"I didn't even make you come!" he wails, aware that he's maybe being a little dramatic, but god, he literally just choked on Steve's dick and now what if he's ruined _everything_?

"Bucky," says Steve, and now he sounds _amused_! "Come on, now. It's not that bad."

"Are you _laughing_ at me?" he hisses, as he jerks back from Steve, narrowing his eyes. 

"What? No! Come on, don't be like that. It was just an accident, like I said." He holds up his hands, making a placating gesture that Bucky narrows his eyes at, his pride mortally wounded. "You don't gotta be sore at me, honey."

"You talk like you're from the 40s sometimes. You know that?" he grumps, crossing his arms. 

Steve does laugh this time, snorting a little. "Yeah, well, you're kind of prickly when you're embarrassed."

Bucky _hmphs_ but then shrugs one shoulder, letting some of the tension fall away. "I don’t like being made fun of."

"Buck, I would never make fun of you." Steve holds out his hand. "Come back over here, would you? Let me kiss you, please?"

What Bucky _wants_ to do is crawl into a hole and stay there, but he scoots back into Steve's arms. Steve wraps him up immediately, guiding Bucky into a gentle kiss. Bucky sighs into his mouth, simmering down with every warm press of Steve's lips. He's very good at kissing. 

"I wouldn't make fun of you," Steve repeats, kissing Bucky's temple and pulling him down onto Steve's chest to curl up with head tucked under Steve's chin. "There's nothing to be embarrassed by, okay? I mean it. Stuff like that just happens. Sex isn't exempt from awkward moments."

"Oh yeah?" mumbles Bucky, still feeling sullen enough to sniffle a little. "You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"I am, but that doesn't make it any less true," says Steve. "You want examples? I'll give you examples, Buck. I once farted while someone was giving me a blowjob. Another time, I came in my partner's eye."

Bucky snorts out a startled laugh into Steve's bare chest. "You didn't."

"That's not even the worst one. You think choking during your first blowjob is bad?" Steve's voice is warming up to this topic, rumbling with amusement at his own experience. "At least you didn't accidentally bite down."

"Oh my god," giggles Bucky, all at once feeling so much better. He can't believe how good Steve can make him feel, even in horrible awkward moments. "You _bit_ someone?"

"Sure did. Actually, that was my high school prom date. We hooked up off and on all summer, even after that," says Steve. He gives Bucky a squeeze, kissing the top of his head. "So, see? It's fine. Next time you want to try, you'll know better and you'll be more careful. And if something else embarrassing happens, then we'll laugh it off and try again."

Bucky huffs. "I guess. I'm sorry you didn't get to...finish." He's tracing light patterns across Steve's chest, playing the the fine, dark blond curls spread between his pecs and trailing down his belly. Slowly, he pushes his hand down, following the trail toward Steve's boxers. "I could try with my hand instead?"

Steve's gently catches Bucky by the wrist, stopping his progression. "Hey, it's okay. I don't need that right now, I promise. I was enjoying what you were doing before, but I don't ever want you to feel like you're doing something just to...even the score, okay? There's no score between us. I wanted to make you feel good, so I did. I didn't do it in hopes that there would be a quid pro quo."

"I know that, I do." Bucky twists his hand so that he can lace their fingers together. He can feel the rise and fall of Steve's chest beneath him, hear the steady beat of Steve's heart under his ear. "I just wanted to make you feel good. I still do, but—I don't want you to be disappointed."

"I'm not, Buck. I honestly don't see a way that you could possibly disappoint me at this point."

"You shouldn't say that," Bucky sighs, nuzzling into Steve's broad chest. "You don't know that."

Steve's laughter rumbles directly into Bucky's body. He puts his arm around Bucky's shoulders, cuddling him. "Why don't we just get some sleep, Buck?"

"It is _way_ past my bedtime," admits Bucky. He wriggles around against Steve, who is patiently obliging, and rearranges himself so he's not entirely on _top_ of Steve. He tucks himself alongside him instead, under his arm with his head resting on Steve's shoulder. 

"You good?" murmurs Steve, when Bucky has gone still. His lips glance off the top of Bucky's head in a lazy kiss.

"Mmm," murmurs Bucky, breathing in Steve's scent. "Very. You're extremely comfortable."

Steve laughs, giving Bucky a squeeze. "I try."

"You succeed. Big and firm, with some satisfying give."

"Then I have purpose."

"Uh huh. Useful."

“I’ll get the lamp.”

“Thanks.”

Bucky isn't quite sure when he drifts off. He doesn't remember. Steve's heartbeat is lulling him right to sleep and he's so _warm_...

The next thing he's aware of is his alarm. Bucky groans, burying his face more firmly in his pillow, and then his pillow _moves_ , and he realizes that he's sleeping on top of Steve.

 _Oh._

Sure, Bucky stayed the night with Steve on Saturday, but this still feels different somehow. Steve's in his bed, arms wrapped around him, warm and solid. They're going to go to _work_ together. Bucky squirms until he can push his nose into Steve's neck, taking big, greedy breaths. 

Steve chuckles, a friendly rumble beneath him. "Morning to you, too, sweetheart."

"Mmmm, you should...make me coffee," he decides. "While I take a shower."

"Oh, I should, should I?" Steve sounds amused, fingers combing through Bucky's curls. "Well, alright, if that's what you want. Go on, if we hurry, we can stop and have breakfast together someplace, since you don't have to take the train."

Bucky sighs but rolls off of Steve, stretching luxuriously, his spine cracking as he groans. When he finally blinks open his eyes, he sees Steve is sitting up, watching him with a hungry expression. Before Bucky can decide if he wants to act on the promise there, Steve seems to give himself a shake, smiling. "Alright, lazybones, go take your shower."

So Bucky does, though first he lets Steve use the bathroom, brush his teeth, and steal a kiss. When he emerges into the kitchen, Steve's got a cup of coffee made just how Bucky likes it, and he pulls Bucky in for a deeper kiss before going to take his own shower. 

It’s ridiculously domestic. 

There’s a diner just across the street from the office, so they park in the garage and walk over together. Bucky’s never been here before, despite the restaurant’s proximity to the office; it’s homey, with big cushy red booths, and hand-sewn yellow curtains. 

It also, he gathers from the frankly obscene collection of signs covering the walls, makes its own sausages, or partners with a deli that does. 

Directly across from Bucky, on the wall over Steve’s head, there is a placard with a picture of a hand-drawn sausage captioned simply with BIG, FAT, JUICY. 

Seriously? His life is a joke. This is a scene out of a movie. He is rudely accosted by a memory from last night, when he _choked_ on Steve’s big, fat, juicy cock.

As he looks around in shock, he finds more:  
\- Sausages Big Enough to Make Your Mouth Water  
\- Fran’s Diner: Where the Sausage is Big, Spicy & Available All Night Long!  
\- Knot Your Average Sausage  
\- Big Meat Found Here  
\- Alpha Sausages: Because Size Does Matter

The worst one, though, is the sign depicting a skinny little twink of a man biting into a girthy sausage and spraying juice in an elaborate arc that reads, “Make your Omega squirt with Alpha Sausages!”

“Jesus,” mutters Bucky under his breath, “Why don’t they just write, ‘Enormous Dongwich Available Here!’”

Across from him, Steve chokes on his coffee. “What?” he sputters. 

“Don’t order the sausage.” He finally glances down at the menu he hasn’t been reading. "They have eggs benedict.”

"Always a good choice," agrees Steve, seemingly unaffected by Bucky's conversational flaws. 

"I make very good choices," says Bucky mechanically. _Sausages Big Enough to Make Your Mouth Water!_ his brain screams, haunting him ruthlessly.

Steve hides his smile behind his menu. "I'd say so."

"You would?"

"You took this job. You’ve continued to go out with me. I'm very happy with your choices."

"Oh." He smiles back at Steve, allowing it to calm the nerves churning in his stomach and the mocking voice in his head. "Me too."

"Hey, so, I have plans with my mother tonight," says Steve. "I'm going to tell her that I'm dating someone."

Bucky blinks. For some reason, it hadn't even occurred to him that Steve might want to do this. Of course Steve would want to tell his mom. Bucky told _his_ family. Bucky also clarified with Steve himself that it's okay to call Steve his boyfriend. 

It feels particularly significant, though, that Steve is going to talk to his mom about Bucky. That's clearly not something he ever did with anyone he saw casually. "That's good. I mean...I'm glad."

Steve hums in agreement. He takes another sip of his coffee and then says, "I'd also like to tell her that it's serious."

Bucky's heart starts to pound. They’ve been dating for almost a month. Well. three and a half weeks. Can that really be _serious_ yet? Is he rushing things? "I—is that...soon?" he blurts.

Steve shrugs. "Maybe, but I do feel that way about you. Serious, that is."

It's such a _struggle_ not to just put his heart in a box and mail it to Steve right now. It's his. He can have it. It's stupid, it's fast, and Bucky needs to be more cautious, but seeing and hearing Steve reflect that desire back at him is intoxicating. 

Would an adequate frame of reference for what is and isn't a serious relationship even help? If it _is_ too soon, what's he supposed to do? Pretend he isn't deeply affected by Steve? That's not what _Steve_ is doing. Steve is being frank with him. Maybe it's fast, but that's how he feels. 

Bucky knows how _he_ feels, too. When he's not around Steve, he's thinking about him. 

Unbidden, Becca's words come back to him: _I'm afraid you'll end up hurt, either by yourself or the first person that bothers to give you the attention you're starving yourself of._

Red-faced, Bucky forces himself to meet Steve's eyes, relaxing a little at his calm, patient expression. If he doesn't take chances because he's afraid of what might happen, he'll never experience anything. And if he does take a chance, and it hurts, then at least he'll be able to say he did something about his complacent half-life. 

"It feels serious for me, too," he admits, voice wavering only a little. "I don't really know what I'm doing."

Steve smiles. "I think between the two of us, we can probably figure it out."

Bucky opens his mouth and the breath he takes is audible as it gets caught. He snaps it closed again and ducks his head, nodding his agreement. "Yeah." Can he figure it out? Bucky's not sure, but he wants to try, Steve makes him want to try. "Um," Bucky adds, "Tell her I said hi?"

Steve's grin is incandescent. "I will. Are we still on for tomorrow night?"

"Yes. I'm going to cook for you," says Bucky, relieved to be able to change the subject from Steve's mom, which makes him anxious in an unfamiliar way. "Anything you don't like? I'm going to the store tonight."

"Hmm, green olives," says Steve, wrinkling his nose. "And any kind of boiled meat that's not a stew or a soup."

Bucky laughs. "Got it, no olives or boiled meat. I think I can work with that."

The waitress returns to take their order and soon enough, they eat and it's time to go to work. Breakfast took longer than expected, so they get in about half an hour later than normal, which means there are people around as they enter the building, hand in hand. Steve squeezes once and then loosens his grip, not letting go but making it clear Bucky can let go if he wants.

Bucky doesn’t, holding his breath as they approach the small group waiting for the elevator. He recognizes most of them. Wanda, Clint, and Scott, turning to look at them both with wide eyes.

The scrutiny makes his pulse jump, which translates to Bucky reflexively tightening his grip on Steve's hand. He really hopes his palm isn't sweaty. He gets a reassuring squeeze in return, though, so he fights to give the group a benign smile even though he feels anything but benign. 

"Morning, folks," says Steve pleasantly.

"Morning," they chorus back. 

Clint's gaze keeps jumping between them to their joined hands, while Wanda has evidently recovered from her shock, politely turning her attention back to her phone. Scott looks hopelessly lost, but thankfully he doesn't give voice to the many questions crossing his face. 

The elevator doors open, and they all file inside. Steve, closest to the panel, presses the button for their floor. 

"We're out of cookies," Clint says suddenly, like he's been groping around for an acceptable topic of conversation. 

Bucky huffs out an incredulous laugh, tension seeping out of his shoulders. "It's Tuesday, Clint. You should know that I go to Costco on Tuesdays."

Clint blinks. "Oh. Really?"

"I thought having a regular schedule would work better than just going when the cabinets were totally bare."

"So cookies today?"

Bucky smothers a laugh. "Yes. Cookies today."

"Oh good," says Clint. "That's...good."

Wanda snorts, pressing her lips together like she's trying to keep in a laugh, but it feels as if it's directed at Clint and not Bucky so Bucky finally allows himself a smile. The elevator dings and the doors open, everyone shuffling out and heading for their desks. 

Steve gives Bucky a questioning look, leaning in a bit, and with a happy sigh, Bucky tips his chin up and tilts his head to the side, offering his cheek. Steve presses a soft kiss there, nose trailing against Bucky's skin to his hairline, the barest of scenting before he steps back. "Have a good day, Buck."

Bucky is a bit breathless, but he manages to focus, grinning at Steve. "You too."

His day is relatively uneventful, heading off to do his Tuesday morning Costco run with one of the interns who drives him there and then dutifully follows Bucky around with a giant cart while Bucky loads it up. After everything is put away in the kitchen, Bucky drops off a bag of Sausalitos at Clint’s desk. 

"A whole bag for me?" His eyes are round as he looks up. "Thanks, man."

Bucky huffs. "You're welcome. Thanks for...being cool."

"I'm cool?" 

"Well, no, but you acted cool yesterday and today." Bucky rubs his palms against his legs. "Please don't make me regret saying anything."

"Ohhh." Dawning recognition spreads across Clint's face. "Right. That. Nah, man, that's your business, obviously. I'm happy for you."

Bucky's cheeks warm a little. It's too nice, which means he really wants this conversation to end now. He needs to refocus things away from him, always feeling a little bit like he's wilting under the attention. 

"Thanks," he says, giving Clint a smile. "I'll let you get back to it." 

Clint waves him off with a cookie, turning back to his computer, and Bucky retreats to his own desk. Maybe, and this is a wild thought, the world isn't an inherently terrifying place, and sometimes his fears are unfounded. It's...okay. People know that he's dating Steve and that's fine. It's been documented, even, HR is aware and unconcerned, and this is just a thing that is accepted, because this is a good workplace and a good group of people, and Bucky feels happy and safe here. 

Unexpectedly, his eyes prickle with tears. Je _sus_ , there's nothing to cry about, but unfortunately Bucky's response to most things is tears.

He sniffles discreetly and tries to figure out how wildly his life has changed in just a couple of months. It hadn't even occurred to him just how much he was lacking. How firmly he'd stuck himself in a dead-end job and a listless routine, how few people he knew, how little he did in his spare time. It hadn't even registered. 

One day, he needs to pick out the perfect thank you gift for Natasha. If she hadn't reached out, he probably wouldn't have willingly changed his job circumstances. He'd be underpaid and unappreciated and lonely. He wouldn't have met Steve or any of his coworkers or communicated his boundaries to Becca. 

Tomorrow, he's going to have Steve over to his place _properly_. 

To successfully facilitate this, he's giving himself full permission to be as neurotic as he needs to be tonight. He's going grocery shopping right after work, and then he's going to clean his apartment and meal prep. Everything is going to be _perfect_. Steve came over last night, but that didn't count. _This_ counts.

He cares about Steve, and with the mutual confirmation that this is _serious_ , he feels free to show that care in all the ways that come naturally to him. He wants to _take_ care of Steve, welcome him in, take his coat, bring him a drink, serve him dinner. He wants to watch appreciation and joy bloom across Steve's face as he takes his first bite of the meal Bucky prepared. He wants to bring Steve dessert and coffee in the living room after and he wants to stretch out next to him on the couch with his face pressed to Steve's thigh while Steve tells him what a good job he did.

 _God_. 

Bucky just wants so much from Steve and _with_ Steve. His stomach tightens up in concentrated energy, like all his atoms are crowding together at his core. He feels flushed, skin prickly with the barest hint of sweat, and if Bucky didn't know better, he'd say it's almost like going into heat; the slightly nauseous feeling of hurtling towards something inevitable.

Licking his lips, Bucky gives himself a shake and goes back to his work. He can't think about heats right now. His next one is in four short weeks and they haven't discussed it at all. 

And never mind the whole office knowing they're dating. If Steve stays with Bucky for his heat, the whole office will know _that_ because they'll both have to be gone a full week. 

Before Bucky can allow himself to spiral, his computer pings with a slack message from Steve.

 **SGR** : Buck, I'm heading out early today so I can make it up to Stony Brook earlier. I'll see you in the morning.  
**JBB** : Drive safe! See you tomorrow. 

At the end of the day, Bucky grabs his bag and heads for the elevator, waving goodbye as he goes, mentally running through his shopping list even though he has it all saved to his phone. He's decided he's going to make lasagna with garlic bread and salad because he can make it tonight and then put it in the fridge and pop it in the oven when he gets home tomorrow. Besides, everyone knows lasagna is better the second day anyway.

Bucky always feels so relaxed when he runs errands and does chores. 

He busts out his reusable bags at the grocery store, methodically going up and down the aisles as he crosses items off his list. While dinner has a clear path, he's still not 100% decided on dessert. If he makes the lasagna tonight, that leaves him free to make something special, like a cake or a pie, tomorrow. 

In the end, he compromises. Buying premade pie crust is just saving himself a lot of time and effort, especially if he's going to make the apple filling from scratch. He also picks up a nice tub of vanilla ice cream to eat with it, and heads home, pleased with himself. 

When he gets there, he goes absolutely buckwild. 

There's a method to his compulsion. First he puts on laundry, so he can start cleaning while his clothes wash. Then he dusts, followed by vacuuming, so that any residual dust that fell on the floor is taken care of. He washes his dishes, wipes down his counters, and, finally, cleans the bathroom, which is left until last because it sucks and it's the grossest task. Once the bathroom is _clean_ , he can take a shower and deal with how grubby he feels from cleaning. 

He makes the lasagna last, washes the dishes again, and puts everything in the fridge for tomorrow. The salad is something he can throw together before dinner, along with the bread, and the pie will take him a while.... 

"Maybe I should make the pie _now_ ," he says out loud, startling himself. He hasn't spoken in _hours_. He paces his kitchen, mentally calculating how long he'll have before Steve comes over. Pie is supposed to be cool before you eat it. Why didn't he just get a premade pie?

He spirals for a few minutes and decides to make the pie tonight, which is how he ends up peering anxiously into his oven, trying to figure out if the lattice work is browning too much, at midnight.

God. He's going to be so tired tomorrow. Maybe he can text Steve and ask him to add an extra shot of espresso to his coffee in the morning, but then Steve might ask _why_. Bucky really doesn’t want to explain that he decided to put a pie in the oven after eleven at night. He whines a little, if only to himself, and thinks idly about getting a cat because at least if he’s going to complain he can at least complain to his cat. 

Then he thinks about cleaning the litter box and worrying nonstop about the cat knocking something over or getting hurt while he's at work and he reaches the same conclusion he's reached multiple times before: he can't have a cat. 

This short spiral seems to have lent just the perfect amount of rich golden color to the pie. He shoves his hands into his oven mitts and reaches in, scooping it up and placing it on the pie rack he set up earlier. 

Steam rises from the crust, wafting up with tart, cinnamony sweetness. God, it smells amazing. He knows he probably shouldn't cover it right away because the steam needs to escape or it'll get soggy, right? Can he leave a pie on the counter overnight? 

Glancing at the clock—12:17 stares at him in neon green, accusing—he goes to the bedroom where his phone is plugged in and opens up Google, typing in _can i leave a pie out overnight to cool_

_About 25,000,000 results (1.15 seconds)_

He breathes out heavily through his nose as he flicks through the results. The first makes him believe he will absolutely die if he leaves the pie out longer than 2 hours, but three more tell him his pie is fine if it doesn't have milk or eggs in it, and that fruit pies typically fair okay on the counter. 

Okay. 

Feeling sort of confident about it, he flicks off the kitchen lights and takes himself to bed. He expects to toss and turn but he drops off quickly, only to jolt awake five hours later to his alarm.

It's the kind of rude, mid-dream wake up call that leaves him disoriented and dizzy, smacking his lips and struggling to peel open his eyelids. 

Slapping at his phone, Bucky finally turns the alarm off after three failed attempts. He groans, scrubbing at his eyes, and drops his face back onto his pillow. Fuck. He really fucked up. Why did he go to sleep so late— 

"Oh god, my _pie_ ," he yelps, leaping out of bed like he's been shocked. 

His pie is safe in the kitchen, untouched, so Bucky covers it carefully and puts it into the fridge. Tonight, he'll put it in the oven to warm, and serve it hot with ice cream after dinner. Then he shuffles into the bathroom to shower, not because he really needs another shower, but because he's hoping it'll help wake him up.

Still. He did it. Everything but the salad and bread is done, just needs to be heated up, and once he gets some coffee in his body, he'll be a human being again. He dresses himself for work, unconcerned about his outfit because he plans to change when he gets home, before Steve comes over. 

He's sitting at his desk an hour later, blinking blearily at his computer, when a shadow falls over him. 

Steve's scent meets his nose a moment later, and he swears it wipes his exhaustion clean. He perks up, raising his head and hitting Steve with a smile. "Hey," he says happily, reaching out for the proffered coffee with both hands. "Oooh, thank you."

"You're welcome," murmurs Steve, returning his smile. "You doing okay?"

"I am now," says Bucky, sipping his latte. 

Steve raises an eyebrow. "You weren't before?"

Dammit. "I have coffee now," says Bucky, which isn't a lie. "And that makes everything better."

Steve watches him a moment longer, expression inscrutable. "Well, I can't argue with that logic."

Bucky takes another drink of his blessed caffeine. "Did you have a nice time with your mom last night?"

"Yes, it was good. She just moved into a new house there with her friend, another Omega who works at the university." Steve's expression goes endearingly soft as he talks about his mother. "Mom's a nurse, like I said, and she's been doing double duty the last couple of years as a clinical instructor at the university. It's why she moved from Brooklyn and it's how she met Suzanne. Well, they're a couple, but Ma insists on just calling Suzanne her 'friend' like it hasn't been twenty years since Dad died and she doesn't want to upset me by telling me she's dating."

Steve's fond smile as he recounts the story lights Bucky's tender feelings up, making him feel like he's outside soaking up bright, pure sunshine rather than witnessing Steve's love for his mom. "That's sweet, though. Is the new place nice?"

"Yeah, a cute three bedroom house, freshly remodeled. It's getting too cold out now, but next summer they're going to do some landscaping out back, they were telling me all their plans. They, um," says Steve, pausing for a moment, looking a bit sheepish. "They were both pretty enthusiastic when I told them about you. They want me to bring you with me next time, but I can put them off as long as you need, so don't feel pressured."

"Oh," says Bucky, heat flooding his cheeks. Oh, _wow_. That feels.... Bucky doesn't know _how_ that feels. Steve's mother and her partner want to meet him. He projects himself into a future where the opposite is happening, where Steve's over for a Sunday dinner to meet _his_ family. 

There's no chance of him meeting Bucky's parents unless it's a holiday, but his sisters... Bucky pictures Steve and Becca meeting and sucks in a sharp breath. 

"Like I said," says Steve gently, interpreting Bucky's frozen stare as a different sort of anxiety. "No pressure, Buck."

"I'm flattered," Bucky says, collecting himself with difficulty. "I'd love to, to meet them, I'd love that, Steve. Maybe...in the new year." That seems reasonable. They're heading into the holidays, now, and that's a busy time of year for everyone. Then Bucky's got seasonal leave, and...

Seasonal leave! He keeps circling back to it. There's still a few weeks, there's so much happening in between, too, but he keeps thinking of how if they're serious, if they continue to be serious, then Steve will definitely be spending Bucky's heat with him. 

"I keep losing you, pal," Steve murmurs warmly. "You okay? We don't have to talk about this right now."

"I'm sorry," says Bucky. "I'm fine, I promise. I was just thinking. It's good, it's all good."

"Okay," allows Steve. "Well, in that case, I'd better let you get to work. We're still on for tonight?"

"Yes! I'm going to leave a little early to warm everything up," he tells Steve, and then adds hastily, "I'm going to work through lunch, though."

Steve lifts an eyebrow. "No, you're not. You're allowed an early day, Bucky. You don't need to work through lunch for it. Besides, even if you weren't, I'm not your boss. Take it up with Pepper if you're concerned, but I guarantee she'll tell you the same thing."

Bucky looks down, picking up a pad of Post-its to fidget with, flipping through them. "Okay, I'll...mention it to her."

"Alright, well, I'll see you later. Just text me what time you'd like me to show up."

Bucky nods and watches Steve go, trying not to overthink the interaction. He knows he's allowed to leave early, but he didn't want to do that again when he already spent a week working from home and left early that time to go on a picnic with Steve. 

Biting his lip, he logs into his email and writes to Pepper, asking if he can leave a little early today. He rereads it 5 times, minimizes it, does a different task, pulls it back up, rereads it again, and finally he hits send.

He barely has time to start working on something else before there's a reply. "Sure, not a problem. Let me know if there's anything I need to cover, otherwise have a nice evening! -PP"

Bucky lets out a breath, relieved and wound up all at once. He decides to throw himself into the rest of his tasks and get as much done today as he can so he doesn't start tomorrow behind. 

He almost—accidentally, he swears—works through lunch, but he gets an email from Pepper again reminding him to grab food from the lunch meeting before the vultures descend and he takes it as his cue. He eats a quick sandwich and chips and then heads back to his desk to wrap things up. At 3, he shoots a text to Steve telling him dinner is at 6 and then heads out.

At his last job, there was a colleague that was overly invested in Bucky's schedule. Bucky did not report to this colleague, was in no way supervised by them, but if he was ever late, or left early, it would not go without comment. Bucky, by nature a punctual person, is also only human, and he grew incredibly paranoid under his colleague’s scrutiny. 

Getting reported for being five minutes late because the MTA shit the bed conditioned Bucky to be extremely aware of how he's perceived. 

Pepper is different, though. Everyone at Stark & Rogers is different. Pepper in particular, as a manager, seems uninterested in Bucky's hours as long as he's getting his work done. He's had it impressed upon him that his hours can be as flexible as he needs them to be; during onboarding, Natasha explained that employees don't need to book time off for appointments. He can work from home around them, come in late, leave early... As long as his tasks are completed and someone can back him up if he's missing something important, then no one is counting up his forty hours a week. 

It takes Bucky the entire commute home to wrestle his way through the residual anxiety of Steve calling him out and Pepper barely batting an eye at his request. He asked for permission, and got it easily. He didn't ignore any of his responsibilities, he finished his daily to do list. If he's really still feeling anxious about it tomorrow, he can stay an hour later. 

By the time he finally gets home, though, Bucky is mostly centered again. Before he does anything else, he circles the apartment and tidies up, making sure everything is put away. He has more than enough time to take a shower, style his hair, and get changed into more comfortable but still respectable clothes. When he's finished fussing with his hair, Bucky puts on an apron and heads into the kitchen. 

He really left himself in a good spot yesterday, bad pie decisions aside. He preheats the oven and puts in the lasagna, throws together the salad, and prepares the garlic bread for last minute toasting. 

When they finish eating, he'll heat up the pie. He's just making a quick honey mustard salad dressing about ten minute before Steve is supposed to arrive when Bucky's phone pings. 

**Steve** : Red or white?  
**Steve** : Wine sorry  
**Bucky** : You don't have to bring anything!  
**Steve** : if you don't give me a proper answer, I'll just bring both :)

Oh god, what goes with pasta? Red, right? 

**Bucky** : Red!!  
**Steve** : thank you  
**Bucky** : hmph  
**Bucky** : you're welcome.  
**Steve** : see you soon 😘

The timer goes off and Bucky sets his phone down, turning to pull the lasagna out of the oven, and then adds the garlic bread. He watches it like a hawk, not trusting the timer. It's so _easy_ to burn garlic bread! 

He's still staring intently at it when his phone rings and he sees that it's the intercom. He buzzes Steve in, but as soon as he opens the door, the timer _does_ go off and he twirls away, yanking open the oven door and pulling the bread out. 

It’s perfectly golden brown. Bucky lets out a breath. 

Setting the bread on top of the oven and turning it off, he turns around to see Steve walking in, smiling. "Hey, honey."

"Hey," says Bucky, blushing immediately. "Sorry, didn't want the garlic bread to burn."

"No need to apologize. It smells incredible in here." He sets the bottle of wine he's holding down on the counter and reaches to take off his jacket. "And you look cute in your apron."

Bucky isn't just blushing, he feels warm all over, and not from cooking and running around. "I can take that," he says, flustered, reaching for Steve's jacket. 

This isn't quite right, though. Steve shouldn't be in the kitchen, and Bucky shouldn't still _be_ in this apron. "Wait." He takes a steadying breath and straightens up. "Humor me for a second? I just wanted this to be...." He sets a hand at Steve's arm, and when he tugs him out of the kitchen, Steve, bless him, goes easily. 

It's not the same as if Bucky had timed this just a little earlier, and had been prepared for the buzzer, but he walks Steve to the door and then says, "Hi. Can I take your coat?"

Steve's eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. "Thank you," he demurs, giving his jacket to Bucky to be hung up. "You look great, Buck."

"Thanks," Bucky murmurs, guiding him into the living room. "Can I get you a drink? Should I open the bottle of wine?"

"Just some water, please," says Steve, taking a seat. "We can save the wine for dinner."

"Okay. One second." Bucky ducks back into the kitchen, relieved his couch faces away from the kitchen, so that he's peeking at the back of Steve's head while he gathers himself. It gives him a moment to breathe and recalibrate. He takes off the apron and pours Steve a glass of water. Everything else is ready. He feels like they should sit for a minute, though. He can bring Steve the water, and they can....talk? Catch up?

"Here you go," says Bucky, when he re-emerges with the water and sits down with Steve. "Dinner is all ready, but the lasagna just needs a few minutes to rest. The cheese is pretty molten."

“Thank you,” says Steve, eyes sweeping over Bucky with a...well, he looks _hungry_. “Can’t wait to eat it. Thank you for making me dinner, sugar.”

Bucky forces himself not to fidget, to mess with his hair. “It’s my pleasure. I—I really like doing this kind of thing.”

Steve tips his head curiously. “What kind of thing’s that?”

Bucky looks at his lap, shrugging one shoulder. “Taking care, making people comfortable and happy. Being a good host.”

“Yeah? It’s something that makes you happy to do?”

Bucky nods. “Yes. I always have, even as the youngest and the baby of the family, I’d go around and check on everyone. I took over cooking family meals when I was twelve.”

Steve’s focus is so intense on him, soaking up every word, it makes Bucky squirmy and happy, almost like he might cry. No one ever gives him that kind of attention to just...talk. 

“I’m happy it’s something you enjoy, sweetheart. Thank you for wanting to take care of me.”

"It's really easy," Bucky blurts. He _knows_ he's flushed, warming himself with Steve's steady attention. "To want that. You make me..." He trails off, hesitating. "Um."

"I promise I won't judge anything you say," Steve says gently. "I already know I feel the same way. You make me happy, too."

Relieved, Bucky breaks into a shaky smile. Maybe he's just caught in the novelty of a new relationship, of his _first_ relationship, that everything feels so right. Or maybe they're actually _this_ compatible, complementing each other perfectly in their wants and needs. That's a dangerous thought, obviously; Bucky is trying so hard to remain calm and reasonable. 

"I think it's your love language," Steve continues. "Taking care of people, feeding them, making sure they have everything they need."

"Oh," says Bucky, surprised. "Yeah, I think so." It's not the first time he's heard that, but he didn't expect Steve to understand it so easily. It's been kind of a battle, with himself and with others, to come to terms with his strong impulse for caretaking. So many people have assured him he doesn't _have_ to do it, that he's allowed to be himself, to let his true personality shine through....that he's _more_ than his Omega designation. 

He _knows_ that. He doesn't do it because he has to. He does it because he likes it, likes how it feels to provide simple comfort to a loved one, because he wants to show his care in the ways that come naturally to him. The second someone implies he _has_ to do any of the things he would do without being asked, he gets a lot more stubborn. 

"Can I kiss you?" Steve says softly. 

"Yeah," breathes Bucky. "But the lasagna—"

Steve scoots closer on the couch, cupping Bucky's jaw and pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. "Oh, we won't forget, I promise. I'm looking forward to it."

With a tiny sigh, Bucky melts into Steve, lets him kiss him again and again. Steve makes him feel so safe and understood, like nothing he could ever say would be wrong. Bucky is allowed to be himself, in every way, and he's so terrified of what happens when it all goes away. He doesn't know why he even thinks like that, but it can't last forever. It just can't. He can't come across the first person he's ever been really attracted to and fall into a relationship that makes him feel this good and then have it _last_. 

He'll guard his heart as tightly as he can, hold it out of Steve's grasp and hold onto Steve as long as possible, his heart in one hand and Steve in the other. 

Steve licks into his mouth and Bucky wraps both arms around him, folding his whole body into Steve's for long, long minutes. Finally, Steve gentles their kisses, pulls back enough to brush his lips to Bucky's cheek. "Alright, sweetheart?"

Bucky nods through his dizziness, licking his lips to chase the taste of Steve. "Y-yes, I'm fine. I...we should have dinner. If you go sit at the table, I'll bring you a plate."

For a second, Steve doesn't move, and they stay leaning into each other, Bucky breathing in Steve's scent. 

Then Steve very gently untangles them, and Bucky clears his throat, climbing out of his lap, where he ended up somehow over the course of the last few minutes. "I'm going to go to the kitchen," Bucky says unsteadily. 

"And I will go sit down at the table," Steve obliges. 

Bucky nods, straightening his shirt, and scurries off the couch to retreat back into the kitchen. The lasagna seems perfect, having rested; he cuts neat, even slices, and plates them up, with servings of salad and the gooey bread. 

"Here we go," murmurs Bucky, finding Steve seated at Bucky's tiny little two person table, waiting for him with a warm smile. "I'm just gonna get the wine."

He knows he _does_ have a bottle opener in here somewhere. He surfaces it from one of the drawers, popping out the cork and returning with the opened bottle of wine. At least he remembered to set out wine glasses after Steve texted. It looks more impressive, pouring out wine in glasses that were neatly laid out already on the table, before Bucky finally sets the bottle aside and seats himself. 

"This looks incredible, Buck," says Steve, picking up his knife and fork. "Thank you again."

"Try it first before you go on singing my praises," Bucky demurs.

Steve smiles but obeys, and Bucky watches as he picks up his fork and takes a sizable bite of lasagna. He's trying not to stare, but he _really_ wants to see if Steve is going to enjoy this after he spent so long preparing it, the first thing Bucky's ever made for him. 

The spike in pleased, happy Alpha scent hits his nose before Steve's appreciative groan meets his ears. "Oh, this is _amazing_."

Heat floods Bucky, from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, down the length of his throat, creeping down his chest; indescribable satisfaction at the strength of Steve's scent and his verbal response. If he were a cat, he'd be _purring_. "Really?"

"It's the best lasagna I've ever had," he confesses, and he sounds so honest, so sincere. He immediately takes another bite as soon as he's swallowed, continuing to make happy noises that suffuse every bit of Bucky with warmth. It's only after Steve's taken his third enthusiastic bite that Bucky finally manages to pick up his own fork. 

He keeps a close eye on Steve's progress though, and as soon as he's finishing his slice, Bucky asks, "Do you want seconds?"

"Mmm, please!"

"Good answer," says Bucky. He refills Steve's plate, enjoying his own meal slowly while he watches Steve eat with genuine enthusiasm. "Leave room for dessert, though."

Steve _lights up_. "Dessert?"

Bucky nods, meticulously spearing up some salad. "Uh huh."

"I don't get a hint?"

"Nope," says Bucky, shaking his head. "You'll get a hint when I put it in the oven."

Steve hums, polishing off his second slice of lasagna, and leans back in his chair to pick up his wine for a sip. "You're spoiling me."

"Can I get you some more?"

"If you want me to have room for dessert, I have to decline," says Steve politely and sincerely. "But it was _delicious_ , Buck. Thank you. You're a really good cook."

Bucky sits up straighter, preening a little.

"Okay, you go make yourself comfortable on the couch. Put on a movie if you want. I'm going to put dessert in the oven and start on the dishes," declares Bucky.

"Hey wait, don't I get to at least help with the dishes?" 

Bucky firmly shakes his head. "Nope. It's all me. It won't take me long since I already did all the cooking yesterday. It's just these few plates and putting the lasagna away."

Steve huffs a bit, but he looks fond. Bucky lets himself be reeled in for a kiss before Steve finally accepts his fate and ambles into the living room. Bucky hears the television turn on and he sighs with relief. 

It takes him all of twenty minutes to do everything, scooping up the dishes and bringing them to the sink first, running the water while he turns to put the pie in the oven. Then he turns the coffee machine on, puts the leftovers away, and washes the dishes. By the time it's all done, the pie is a perfect temperature. He serves up two pieces in bowls with a hearty scoop of ice cream and then he fixes two cups of decaf for each of them, Steve's just the way Bucky knows he likes it. He loads it all up on a tray, turns everything off in the kitchen, and brings it out.

Steve turns his attention on him as soon as he reappears and those blue eyes fixed on Bucky with such focus gives him a thrill. 

"You really are spoiling me," Steve murmurs, watching as Bucky sets the tray on the coffee table and sits next to him. He leans forward, sniffing and peering at the bowls. "Pie? You made this, honey?"

"Yeah," says Bucky, tucking his legs up under him and scooting closer to Steve. "Apple. Well, I didn't make the crust from scratch," he admits, because he just can't help it. "But I did everything else."

"It smells incredible," murmurs Steve, picking up a bowl. 

Just like he did earlier, Bucky waits for Steve to scoop up a piece and eat it before he even thinks about getting his own serving; he wants to watch Steve's eyes flutter closed as he chews, making a soft, pleased sound. He goes in for another bite, spooning up ice cream with it, and sighs happily.

"You like it?" asks Bucky, because he's hungrier for Steve's approval than he is for pie. 

Steve's mouth is full again, so he nods furiously instead, and only when he's made a sizeable dent in his portion does Bucky take his own bowl. 

It _is_ really good. The apples are tender and sweet, well seasoned with cinnamon, and he baked the crust up nicely, buttery and flaky and delicious. 

Steve's reaction is best of all, though. He picks up his coffee to wash it down, and scrapes up every last bite of ice cream and pie.

Bucky is slower about eating his and he's already getting pretty full. "Do you want to help me finish mine?"

Steve's eyes are big. "You're not going to finish it yourself?"

"No." Bucky grins shyly at him, shaking his head. "Help?"

"If you insist..." Steve laughs but his spoon joins Bucky's and they polish off his pie and ice cream too, Steve leaning in to press cold, sticky kisses to Bucky's cheek when they're all done. "Thanks, sweetheart."

Bucky wipes at his cheek, making a face for show, but when he picks up both of their bowls and spoons, he leans in and kisses Steve on the lips with a big smack. His whole apartment is filled with happy, warm scents, his and Steve's winding together, blending and filling Bucky's head with contentment. 

God, he wants this so much, wants this always, to keep. 

It's such a stupid thing to pin all of his happiness on. It could go away so quickly, but he just has to accept the risk; he can't imagine walking away and he doesn't know how long his attempt to keep his heart out of reach will work. Especially not as he catches his calendar out of the corner of his eye. At the bottom of the month, he’s stuck a Post-it, with “January 1st!!” scrawled on it as a reminder. 

The first day of his next heat. 

He glances at Steve, sitting on the couch sipping his coffee, and decides he has to have him there. Bucky wants to spend his first partnered heat with _Steve_.

Would it be appropriate to talk to him about it _now_? It's only four weeks away and if Steve needs to rearrange his schedule, or plan for time off, then he'd probably appreciate the heads up as soon as possible.

Asking Steve about his heat, discussing it beforehand, making sure they're on the same page... that's the mature thing to do. 

It's still nerve-wracking, though. It still makes his stomach flip over anxiously as he rubs clammy palms on his thighs. As he hovers nervously in the kitchen, spiraling himself into a little hole, Steve sits up on the couch and turns to look at him, eyebrows raised. 

"Buck?" he questions softly. "You okay, pal?"

Of _course_ Steve can tell something is wrong. Bucky's distress has soured his scent. After such calm, genuine joy, he probably smells terrible. 

"I'm fine, I'm just....thinking," says Bucky. 

"Are you going to come back out here?"

“Maybe.” Bucky sulks a little before returning to the living room and sitting on the edge of the couch, not right next to Steve where he was before. 

"Did something happen?" asks Steve. He sounds so warm and _concerned_. He's so comforting, such a big, strong presence. Bucky wants to hide inside his shirt. 

"Nothing I didn't do to myself," mumbles Bucky, sighing. "I was looking at the calendar."

"Oh?" Steve gives him an encouraging look. "And?"

"I marked my next seasonal leave on it," he blurts. "I was just. I don't know. I...."

"Ah," says Steve, the sound soft and understanding. "Do you want to talk about your heat?"

Bucky makes himself look up, meeting Steve's blue eyes, so full of patience and kindness that Bucky almost feels resentful. 

Why does he always have to be so perfect? Why can't he be bad at _something_ so that Bucky doesn't always feel like he's going to mess this all up by not living up to the impossible perfection of Steve Rogers? Except Steve's so perfect, he'd never hold Bucky to that kind of standard! 

Ugh.

"Honey, you still with me?" murmurs Steve, breaking Bucky out of his internal spiral because Bucky does, in fact, continue to be the world's biggest disaster. 

"Yes," he manages to squeak. He has to clear his throat and try again. "Yes, I'm here, I'm sorry. I just—you know I haven’t dated before."

Steve nods encouragingly, reaching out his hand and placing it palm up on the cushion between them.

Bucky takes the offer, selfishly needing Steve's comfort to get through this conversation, which is so silly. Why is this such a big deal? Millions of people do this kind of thing all the time. Sharing a heat with someone is no big deal. It doesn't mean anything, not like it used to in the old days, in his great-grandparents' generation. It's just practical, especially if you happen to be dating someone at the time. 

"Well," continues Bucky. "It’s not just lack of romantic experience. I’ve never shared my heat either, obviously." His cheeks are on fire. He's sweating all over Steve's hand, he knows it. "Not for any special reason, I guess, I just, um, never really felt comfortable with using a service or, um, asking someone I wasn't really close with, and all the people I'm closest with are family. What I mean is, I don't have anything against spending a heat with someone. I'd like to do it, I think, I just didn't have the, um, right circumstances. But now my circumstances are different."

Steve gives his hand a squeeze and his eyes crinkle like he's holding back a smile. His expression and his scent are affectionate, calm and solid. "Buck, are you asking if I'll spend your heat with you?"

A high, punched out sound escapes his chest, but he manages to nod.

"I'm so glad you asked," Steve says. "Of course I will."

Then, before Bucky can do something embarrassing like deflate with relief or make another stupid sound, Steve cups Bucky's chin in a gentle hand and leans in to kiss him. Bucky _melts_ , crawling closer to lean his weight into Steve, sighing softly against his mouth. He's trembling a little, all his anticipation building up in such a short amount of time and then draining out of him just as quickly. 

"I'd like nothing more, Bucky," Steve continues, when it becomes clear that Bucky has no words to contribute yet. "Thank you for trusting me with this."

Bucky nods firmly, then pushes fully into Steve's lap, settling down over his hips and resting his head on Steve's shoulder. It lets him be as close as possible to Steve while still hiding a little, his face tucked into Steve's throat as he clings to him. 

Steve just takes it all in stride, resting one hand on Bucky's hip, the other rubbing up and down Bucky's spine. 

"Sorry," whispers Bucky. "Sometimes I build something up in my head. I'm still wondering when the other shoe will drop. You're so perfect, I just figure it's gotta. Like I'm going to wake up, and this was all a dream. I'm still at my old job, alone, and you're not real."

Steve makes an unhappy sort of noise, something caught between a hum and a—a growl. "That's never happening, Bucky. This is real. You left that job and you met me and you changed my life. You know that? I know this is all new and big for you, but it is for me, too. I'm not perfect, not by a long shot. I ran from anything resembling commitment for a long, long time."

Bucky's mouth turns down in an unhappy curl, an inverted U of stubbornness. "But you are! You're being perfect _right now_!"

"Bucky," sighs Steve, exasperated. "You ever think that maybe I seem so perfect to you because...I'm perfect _for_ you? Just like you're perfect for me. 'Cause believe me, there's not a day that goes by where I don't marvel at how perfect you are."

Bucky's fingers tighten in Steve's shirt, in his hair, as he presses his face closer, taking big, deep breaths of Steve's scent—the first perfect thing Bucky ever noticed. His eyes feel hot and he wants to stay right here until this big, scary mess of emotions settles down. After letting Steve hold him and soothe him with rhythmic strokes of his hand, up and down his back, Bucky lets out a shuddering breath. 

"Your scent," he whispers, voice rough from holding back tears. He clears his throat. "Your scent is the best thing I've ever smelled. You, um, you asked me why I wanted that blackberry cobbler ice cream on our first date, and it's because that’s one of the things I smell. And a perfect vanilla latte, rich and creamy and sweet. I didn't know anyone could smell so good until I met you."

Steve rumbles beneath him, turning his head to snuffle along the length of Bucky's throat, nose and lips soft and ticklish as he inhales deeply. 

"You're the best kind of distraction," Steve murmurs. "You turn my brain to cotton. We could be across the office from each other, a hundred other people between us, and I'd still feel like I was sitting in a high-end bakery."

Bucky shivers, making a soft, questioning noise, feeling incredulity building. "Bread? Do I smell like _bread_?" 

The warmth of Steve's indulgent chuckle rolls through him. "No. Freshly-baked cinnamon buns. Vanilla glaze. Spicy and sweet. You're just the sweetest thing I've ever smelled. Feel like a broken record with the way I can't help but use endearments like that—sweetheart and honey and _sugar_."

"Oh," says Bucky, heat pooling in his cheeks. He squirms a little, _aroused_ by trading this information back and forth. Scents are so intimate and changeable. Put them together and you get a fancy coffee shop selling home-baked pastries. The thought is deeply appealing. 

"Well-matched," says Steve, echoing his thoughts. 

"Will you stay the night?" Bucky asks quietly. 

Steve stills for a moment, then his hand continues sweeping up the length of his spine. "Of course, Buck. We should take a little about expectations. For your heat."

Bucky flushes _immediately_. They've talked romantic history already; or rather, they've talked _Steve's_ romantic history, because Bucky's is a big old zero. He doesn't have one. He's never been in a relationship, he's never had sex, he's never spent a heat with a partner. 

"Okay," whispers Bucky, agreeing because he knows it's necessary. He can't just close his eyes tight and think of England, nor does he even _want_ to do that. Steve can't read his mind, so they have to talk about this. Snuffling lightly at Steve's throat, Bucky sighs. "Can we just...can we get ready for bed and you can hold me while we talk about it?" He lets Steve's scent continue to soothe him. "I know it's silly and—and kind of juvenile, but I think it would be easier for me to talk about like that, in the dark, together."

"Like we’re the only two people in the world?" murmurs Steve, getting it automatically. "Like you’re safe and sound and free to say anything because the only person in the world other than you will do whatever it takes to protect you? To take care of you, only how _you_ want?"

Words fail him, his throat tight. He makes an affirmative noise. 

"Alright, sugar, alright." Steve kisses the top of his head. "Hold on tight."

Steve picks him up. "Bathroom first to get cleaned up, then bed, yeah?" 

The sense of easy domesticity continues as they take turns at the sink, brushing their teeth and washing their hands and faces. They're not at the point where Steve has any of his stuff here, obviously, considering this is only his second time over at Bucky's place, but Bucky's the kind of person that has a small stockpile of spares, so he opens a new toothbrush for him and tries not to get too weird about how Steve casually puts it into the cup where Bucky keeps _his_ toothbrush after he's finished. 

Steve heads into Bucky's bedroom, leaving Bucky to finish using the bathroom, and when he emerges, Steve's stripped out of his clothes to his boxers and folded them up neatly by the bed. 

"All done?" asks Steve. At Bucky's nod, he says, "My turn," and disappears back into the bathroom.

While he's gone, Bucky changes into his pajamas and then does a quick check of the apartment, turning off lights and putting the chain on his door. He's crawled into bed when Steve returns, and once the light is off, Steve joins him, sliding in alongside Bucky and opening his arms. 

He's so _comfortable_. Bucky fits against his chest and between his legs like he belongs there. When they're settled, he lets out a slow, shaky sigh. 

"I think you know already that I'm not going to judge you for sexual inexperience," Steve says when it's clear Bucky doesn't know where to start. "And it kind of depends on where you fall on the spectrum of how you feel about sex. Virginity isn't real, but at the same time, your first time with someone is something you want to be special, right?"

"Yeah," says Bucky. "I wasn't sure if I wanted it to be during my heat. But I think part of me really _does_ want that."

"Then we can do that," Steve says simply. "We've already had plenty of fun together, right? Pleasure is pleasure. I want to give it to you, I want to share it _with_ you. If you want to wait until your heat to, pardon the expression, 'go all the way', then that's what we'll do. If you never wanted that, then we'd just do something else, too."

Bucky snorts, rubbing the tip of his nose against Steve's bare chest. "I do want that."

Steve responds in kind, a soft chuckle as he continues to touch Bucky with idle affection, fingertips skimming over his body. "Well, then we'll do that. I know I'll enjoy everything I do with you, Buck, can already tell. I'm going to enjoy you figuring out what you like best, helping you discover each new thing, exploring together."

"I just feel like I have _so much_ to learn and catch up on," admits Bucky, quiet in the black of the room. The only window in here faces another building, and at night, only the dimmest gray light reaches his little bedroom. With the curtains shut tight, there's nothing for him to see. They're just two souls, two voices in the dark, the only proof of their corporeal existence is the heat they share, the strength of their hold on each other.

Gentle fingers comb through his thick hair, petting him. "Everybody has to learn when they're with a new partner. Even me, at the risk of sounding crass. Not to speak about other sexual encounters while I'm in bed with you, but every time there was a learning curve, sometimes more or less sharp. Everyone has different preferences, different hangups when it comes to their body, and how they feel about someone else's. It's not like porn, where everything just fits together easy." Then as if a thought is occurring to him suddenly, Steve sucks in a small breath. "Um, you _have_ watched porn before, right?"

Bucky is so fucking grateful for the darkness, and not for any of the sentimental reasons he was considering five seconds ago. Now, with his face on fire, Bucky thanks his lucky stars Steve can't see him. " _Yes_!" he cries. "I'm not a _prude_!"

Steve shakes into helpless giggles, and Bucky joins him, giving him a small thump on the arm with his fist. "Steve!" he laughs, burying his face in Steve's chest. "Oh my _god_!"

"You never know!" protests Steve, laughter thick in his voice. "Some people aren't into that and it's okay!"

"I have watched porn," Bucky says with difficulty, still shaking with laughter. This would be so much worse if they weren't both laughing. With anyone else, Bucky thinks he would have curled up into a pillbug of mortified shame and then broken up with them over text message rather than face them again. "I know how bodies interlock in a staggering variety of ways."

Steve makes a very endearing squeaking sound, apparently tickled by this. "Okay! Okay, okay, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Buck, I'm not making fun of you." He kisses the top of Bucky's head. 

"I know," says Bucky. "God. Have I watched porn before, Steve. _God_."

Steve cackles. "I can't even remember what I was going to say."

"Were you going to recommend me something?" Bucky asks tartly.

" _Stop_ ," wheezes Steve. "No, I wasn't going to _recommend_ you porn."

Bucky settles down, nuzzling back into Steve. He thinks, again, of how he choked on Steve's dick when he tried to give him a blowjob, and lets out a hysterical little giggle. Under the covers, where it's warm and safe, he sneaks his hand to rest on Steve's hip, right in the crease between his torso and thigh. He's radiating heat between his legs and Bucky is sure it wouldn't take much to get him hard. 

"Should I show you I know my way around a dick?" he murmurs, lowering his voice to something more intimate.

"Buck." Steve's voice comes out rough, all their previous humor stripped away in the wake of a rushing tide of desire. "God, honey, that what you want? You—you want to take care of me still?"

And oh, _oh_ , that hits Bucky low in the gut, molten gold, like his insides are gilded, spreading through him until he’s decadent and gratuitous with his lust. He clutches at the thin material of Steve's boxers. "Yes," he gasps. "Please, let me. That's what I want, want to make you feel so good."

Steve strokes his hair again, gripping firmly enough to tug, angling Bucky's chin up, and Steve's mouth finds his in the dark, off-center at first but then a quick course correction has Steve's tongue licking urgently along the seam of Bucky's lips and into his mouth. "God, honey, you're so good, so good to me, takin' care of me. 'Course you can do that, can do whatever you want."

Bucky's cock throbs, and he feels caught out, unprepared for how quickly the mood between them shifted. In the past, there's been more build up, long kisses exchanged, but now it's out there in the open between them, a plain statement of desire, and Bucky _needs_ to make Steve come. Just the same as he needed to see Steve well-fed and satisfied, he feels a similar drive for his pleasure, to be the one to provide that for him.

His hand slides over to cup Steve through his boxers and give his hardening bulge a tentative squeeze. Steve makes a soft, needy noise into Bucky's mouth. 

And isn't _that_ just intoxicating. Having Steve like this, hips twitching into Bucky's hand, his arousal obvious. The logistics of it, of course, trip him up. Very quickly, Bucky flashes through what's immediately stopping him from shoving his hand into Steve's boxers and just jerking him off—he'll make a mess when he comes, of his only pair of underwear and also Bucky's clean sheets, and Bucky needs to stop and get lube, which is annoying. There's something very desirable about sliding down Steve's body, under the covers, and using his mouth.

Determined, he puts a hand between them, pushing lightly on Steve's chest, and Steve breaks off the kiss. "Buck?"

"Trust me," says Bucky. He ducks under the covers, curling up around Steve's hips, and tugs his cock out of his underwear. This time, he'll go slow. He doesn't need to rush, or be over-eager. "Just try to keep still for me," he says, before taking the head into his mouth. 

Above him, muffled by the covers, he thinks he hears Steve's intake of breath. He definitely _feels_ him tense up, the muscles in his thighs taut, and his hands come down on the top of Bucky's head and shoulders over the blanket. It feels like Bucky is insulated from the rest of the world, from his last disastrous attempt at doing this. He wraps his hand around the base of Steve's cock and cautiously bobs down to take more of him in. He _doesn't_ try to swallow; Steve's too big for him to take without choking himself again. 

Instead, he finds a good rhythm with his mouth, and, weirdly, his own saliva lets him get a good, slick hold of Steve's shaft, jerking him off at the same time whenever he bobs back up off his cock.

This time, he's so much less nervous, everything slotting together in his head. 

The scent of Steve is close and thick under the blankets, his growing need and overflowing arousal heady. Bucky moans, his own cock hard but unimportant, the salt-sweet mixture of taste and smell confusing his senses, driving him on as he sucks and sucks and _sucks_ , hand bumping over the growing knot at the base of Steve's cock. There's a sticky dribble of precome wetting up Bucky's mouth, making everything slicker and messier as it smears on his stretched lips and cheeks and chin. The ache in his jaw is distant, irrelevant to his goal of making Steve come.

And then, suddenly, Steve _is_. His hips make one abortive thrust like he just can't help himself, and he moans, loud and unfiltered, Bucky's name on Steve's tongue, muffled through the blanket but plain as anything. Bucky doubles down, tightens his fist around Steve's knot on instinct, and is rewarded by a sharp cry as hot pulses of Steve's come flood his mouth. 

It's more than he was prepared for, but he tries desperately to swallow it all down, to contain the mess, to keep his mouth where it's needed as Steve finds his bliss. 

Bucky did that.

Bucky _did_ that. Bucky caused this, he made Steve come, he's swallowing every trace of it down and then industriously licking at Steve's softening cock to clean off anything that escaped his mouth. 

Steve tenses up a little, his hand heavy on Bucky's shoulder, and he eases up with his attention, assuming Steve's feeling sensitive. A moment later, the covers get tugged away, and cool air hits Bucky's face. There's sweat gathered at his brow and upper lip and he's adjusted enough to the darkness to see Steve's silhouette. Bucky blinks at him as his body cools down, licking his lips. 

"Jesus, Buck," Steve says hoarsely. His hand settles on Bucky's head, ruffling his damp hair. " _Jesus_ , honey."

"Good?" Bucky murmurs, hushed. "Was I good, Steve?"

Steve groans softly. "So good, sweetheart. So good for me."

"I liked that," Bucky says shyly. He feels powerful, flush with success, and he takes a moment to tuck Steve delicately back in his boxers as he preens happily. "Your....your knot... That was really hot."

"Yeah?" asks Steve, something rough about the way he asks, tightly controlled under the surface. 

Bucky licks his swollen lips, enjoying the way they feel tender and puffy. "Yeah," he whispers, keeping quiet in the hushed room. "I...it felt good, in my hand, and I thought about how it might feel inside of me."

"Oh, Buck," he groans, breath catching. He pulls Bucky closer. "You got any idea how hot you are when you talk like that? Telling me how you wanna take my knot? Fuck."

Bucky is suddenly very, very aware of his own arousal, his cock hard again after softening a little, and he can feel the telltale slick between his cheeks. "Steve," he breathes out, rutting against Steve's stomach. "Steve, I want—will you touch me, please?"

"Where, baby? Where do you want me to touch you?"

Bucky whimpers, but it's dark and he just took care of Steve and he can say what he wants, Steve _wants_ to know. "My—I'm all wet and I thought you could...maybe just some fingers?"

The words get a growl before Steve can manage any words at all.

"Yeah, yeah," he mutters, wrestling Bucky down until they're both on their sides, facing each other. Steve squeezes Bucky's hip and then slides his hand down, hooking under his knee and drawing one leg up over Steve's thigh.

Bucky _is_ going to have to get up and change when this is all said and done. Slick has soaked into his underwear. He briefly regrets putting actual pajamas on, but it doesn't seem to slow Steve down at all. He just tugs them down Bucky hips and hitches Bucky closer, his arm tucked around Bucky's waist as his hand slips down between his cheeks. 

Even though Bucky _just_ finished sucking Steve's dick, swallowing his come, heat floods his body at the gentle press of Steve's fingers over Bucky's hole. A jolt of arousal spikes down his spine, Bucky swallowing his moan as he wraps his arms around Steve's shoulders and reflexively humps Steve's thigh.

"It's okay," Steve soothes, holding him close. They're basically hugging, the heavy weight of Steve's arm around him. Two fingers press flat against his hole, rubbing in short little circles, picking up slick and easing the way. "I've got you, Buck. You do whatever feels good."

It's just one finger that dips inside him, though, and isn't _that_ kinda weird. Bucky grunts, wriggling a little. He's crawled in so close to give Steve access to his ass that there's no way either of them can touch his dick; he's going to end up rubbing off against Steve like a horny teenager. "Everything feels good," he mumbles. 

"That’s the idea," says Steve. He slips fully inside, one finger plunging deep. He goes slowly, with infinite care, curling into Bucky at just the right angle to—

"Fuck," moans Bucky, body jerking into the hot bloom of pleasure inside him. "Oh, _god_."

"That's it, baby, that's so good," mutters Steve, lips brushing against Bucky's temple, words rumbled into Bucky's ear. Steve sounds as caught up as Bucky, rubbing inside him, little more than a tease. 

Bucky's hips jerk, his cock grinding against Steve's body, wet and throbbing. "Steve, I—" He breaks off as Steve presses a second finger in. The stretch is a tender ache, his body opening up easily under Steve's careful attention. Bucky squeezes his eyes shut, fingers curled into Steve's shirt at his back, damp with sweat. "Please, _please_."

"Yeah, I'm here, I've got you. Come on, Bucky. You gonna come for me? You gonna show me how good you are?" Steve's words are rambled and breathless, urging Bucky on. Bucky feels wrapped up by them as surely as he's wrapped up in Steve's arms and his scent. Steve crooks his fingers again, hitching Bucky even closer at the same time, mouthing along his neck and his shoulder as the pressure of his fingertips gives way to blooming pleasure. Everything freezes a moment, goes quiet and precarious and _close_ , until— 

Bucky cries out as the rush of endorphins explode, his whole body jerking like there's been an impact, breath caught in his lungs. The first gasp of air leaves him shaking against Steve, trembling with the aftershocks as he tries to drag his soul back inside his own body.

"Hey, easy now, baby, you're okay. You're okay, Buck. That's it, honey. Breathe for me." Steve's voice is just as warm as his hug, holding Bucky close as the tip of his nose scents at Bucky's throat again and again, breathing him in and nuzzling at him soothingly. Bucky isn't distressed at all, but he feels struck dumb by the strength of that orgasm, shocked stupid and gasping as he clutches at Steve. 

It takes him a while to breathe normally, groaning as the _stickiness_ of everything settles in. He's wet. They're wet. Their pajamas and underwear are wet. 

"Okay?" murmurs Steve, kissing his hair. "Was that okay, sweetheart?"

"So good," says Bucky. "It's just—"

"What?" says Steve, hands petting up and down his sides and down his back, a note of concern in his voice. 

"Wet," says Bucky, huffing. "It's _so_ wet, oh my god, I'm sorry." It's _him_ , it's his body that reacted to being touched like that with such horny enthusiasm, and he hides his face in Steve's chest, face burning. 

Steve rumbles a laugh. "It's nothing to be embarrassed about."

"I don't have anything to give you to wear," says Bucky plaintively. "I don't think you'll fit into my underwear and I rubbed off on yours!"

Steve's answer is a warm chuckle but Bucky feels so satisfied despite his self-consciousness that he can't even bring himself to yell about it. Steve kisses his cheek. "I don't need to wear underwear to bed or to work. I'll just put on my work pants in the morning and then I'll get to think all day about how hot you were just now."

Bucky groans helplessly, a mix of desire and embarrassment welling up. "Steve, you'll smell even _more_ like me, less clothes to keep the scent contained!"

"Yeah, so everyone'll know I'm your guy," says Steve easily. "Isn't that nice?"

Bucky whines and buries his face against Steve, not because it doesn't sound nice, but because it very, very much does. He likes it, when he thinks too long about it, people steering clear of Steve because it's obvious he's in a relationship; he's with someone and that someone is Bucky.

"Well, we still need to get cleaned up," he finally settles on. 

"Sure, Buck. You got it." 

Steve helps him out of bed and they both strip down and take turns in the bathroom. While Bucky's in there, Steve locates the spare sheets and changes the bed. Bucky's gonna have to come to terms with sex being messy one of these days...or invest in a lot more sheet sets.

Would it be weird to put down towels? Do people do that? Googling that will be a little embarrassing, but at least nobody will _know_ he's looking it up. 

Still. It's fine. He rinses off in the shower and puts on a fresh pair of underwear and pajamas when he's dry, and then the two of them crawl back into bed. It feels strangely illicit, to be fully dressed when Steve isn't, but Steve doesn't seem at all bothered; he scoops Bucky back up into his arms, cuddling him against his chest, and they go to sleep. 

The next few weeks are hectic. 

Thanksgiving happens, which is a whole entire family affair. Winifred and George arrive, staying with Becca and Sharon, and everyone gathers there for a long, boisterous weekend. While Bucky told his parents about Steve over the phone, everyone being _present_ under the same roof means they can just ask him more direct and leading questions, until he slips away to hide in the bathroom and catch his breath. Mostly he hangs out with the kids, though, and lets his sisters handle his parents, or he puts himself to work in the kitchen making pies. 

Then, once Thanksgiving is over, they're into the Christmas season, and Bucky suddenly has a thousand and one things to do, including buying presents for literally everyone he's ever met.

At least, that's what it feels like. His actual list is just his family, a question mark next to the people at work he likes the most, and then a giant scribble next to Steve's name. 

What the hell does he get for _Steve_? They're not going to spend the holidays together, with Bucky in the city with his family, and Steve going to see his mother and then leaving on some international trip that Bucky hasn't really retained the details about. 

The important part is that Bucky's got a week of seasonal leave booked in the first week of January, which Steve is taking off with him, and....surely he needs to give Steve a belated Christmas gift. 

Before they fuck. 

_Jesus Christ_.

Things have remained hot and heavy between them, blowjobs and handjobs and fingering… Last night, Steve pressed four inside of him while Bucky sobbed out his orgasm, squeezing so tight around Steve in search of a knot that he's sure he left bruises. 

They've also talked about what Bucky wants and what he doesn't want for his heat, too.

They exchange test results, both very clear that they want Steve to be able to come inside of him. Bucky goes for a checkup and physical and gets his birth control refilled. They both agree it’s too early to consider claiming marks, and Bucky still gets butterflies in his stomach remembering how Steve told him when they get to that phase of their relationship, he'd rather they do it outside of a heat or rut so they both have clear heads to remember it. 

When. He said _when_. 

So all and all, Bucky's riding pretty high when he kisses Steve goodbye early one morning in late December, Steve heading up to his mother's and Bucky anticipating another rousing round of pie-making as he miserably pushes through Christmas until he can see Steve again. 

Christmas is even relatively _nice_. His family has grown accustomed to the fact that he's dating someone enough that the only real question they ask is when they'll get to meet him. 

"Soon," says Bucky for the millionth time. "We wanted to wait until after the holidays so that there was no pressure to be included in family traditions yet."

"Why wouldn't he want to be part of our Christmas?" asks George. "Does he think he's too good for us?"

"What? No!" groans Bucky, giving his dad the stink eye. "He would probably do it if I asked, I just—I'm not ready for you guys to terrify him away."

He's mostly joking. Mostly. 

"Bah!" grumbles George, waving his hand. "If a few questions can scare him away, he doesn't deserve you."

Becca is _just_ like their father. Bucky sighs. "I'm going to go check on my baking."

That night, he checks his phone after being kept well-occupied by his family all day and sees a text from Steve. 

**Steve** : Merry Christmas, Buck. Miss you already ❤  
**Bucky** : Miss you too!!! Today was so busy and I barely got a chance to breathe, let alone check my phone. I hope you had a good day with your mom!! Merry Christmas!

He wishes he could call but it seems like it's already too late. With a huff, he rolls over in the spare bed at his sister's house and goes to sleep. 

In the morning, he wakes with a headache.

It's nothing too bad. Bucky assumes it's from too much noise and talking the day before and takes some Advil with his breakfast, hoping it'll go away. 

They spend most of the morning lying around in their pajamas, drinking coffee, nibbling chocolate and cookies, and reading new books or watching Netflix Christmas specials. Bucky would be perfectly happy to do this all day, but Becca got it into her head ages ago that she wants to bring the kids ice skating, which means she wants the _whole family_ to go ice skating, so after a lunch of leftovers, they all get dressed and bundled up to go out. 

Bucky's headache hasn't really gone away, but when he tries to tell Becca, she just says the cold air will do him good, and he ends up in the car with the kids on either side of him, overheating in his winter coat and hat. 

"Why's the heat cranked?" he mumbles, tugging his scarf open. 

"Hm?" says Becca, barely glancing at the dashboard. "It's not."

"I'm boiling," says Bucky. 

"Take off your hat."

"We're all dressed for outside," says Bucky. "Wouldn't it make more sense to turn the heat down?"

"We're almost there."

Bucky sighs, sitting back in his seat. "I could be on the couch, with a cup of ma's cocoa," he says, cranky.

"They have hot cocoa at the rink," says Sharon peacefully.

He bites his tongue rather than say something snarky back because he always feels guilty for being short with Sharon. Instead he concentrates on breathing, hoping each time he expels air, it'll take his headache with it. 

At the rink, he gets pulled along by the twins, one each holding his hands and tugging him to the skate rental. He's able to put the throbbing out of his head as they get out on the rink together and the kids slip and slide and fall. It's very cute and Bucky's glad to see it.

He ends up stripping off his coat and hat, though, dumping them with Winifred and George on the bleachers nearby. 

"You're so flushed," says Winifred, looking him over.

"Well, I've just been skating in that huge coat. Of course I am!"

She purses her lips. "Maybe we should go home."

"First, Becca drags me out here, and now you want me to go home!" groans Bucky, feeling an irrational spike of irritation. He doesn't usually snap at his mom but he doesn't feel good and he's tired of everyone thinking they know best. "No, I'm gonna skate if I'm here."

He stomps off and rejoins the crowds on the ice, but he's left with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, even after he apologizes later.

It means that he doesn't actually get hot cocoa, nor does he want to eat dinner when they eventually get home. His head still hurts, his stomach won't stop flipping, and he tells everyone he's tired and goes to his room to take a nap. 

With the door closed, blessedly alone, he changes into PJs and gets into bed with his phone and finds messages from Steve. 

**Steve** : hope you're having a good day! I'm at the airport, about to board  
**Bucky** : I went ice skating with my entire family  
**Steve** : fun!  
**Bucky** : you could say that  
**Steve** : make sure you get some alone time  
**Bucky** : I'm about to take a nap  
**Bucky** : have a safe flight. I miss you  
**Steve** : miss you too, Buck. 

Sighing, Bucky puts his phone on the bedside table and buries his face in his pillow. 

When he wakes up a couple of hours later, it's hard to tell if he feels better or worse. After he goes to the bathroom and washes his face, then drinks what feels like a gallon of water directly from the tap, he blinks at himself in the mirror with gummy eyes. His headache, at least, is gone, and his stomach has settled. He still feels _hot_ though, and when he presses the back of his hand to his forehead, it definitely seems like he has the beginnings of a mild fever. 

"Of course I'd get sick on Christmas," he mumbles.

Pulling open the medicine cabinet, he digs through until he finds some Nyquil. He takes two, gulping down more water, and stumbles back to bed. He just needs to sleep this off. Hopefully by New Year’s it's gone and he can look forward to his heat with normal anxiety. 

He crawls back into bed and kicks off all the blankets, the weight of them unbearable. 

The next time he wakes, it's to an icicle touching the side of his neck and then his cheek. He flinches, letting out a soft whine. "Noooo." 

"Shhh. You're burning up, Jamie. What's going on?"

It takes him several long moments to realize it's Becca. His eyes are like sandpaper when he opens them. "Don't feel good," he rasps.

"I can see that," she says softly. "You smell...like it's time for your heat."

Bucky huffs. "I'm not going into heat. It's next week.”

"Mmm," she murmurs, sounding completely unconvinced. "I know when it's _supposed_ to be."

"I'm just sick," he says, pushing her cold hand away again. "I'm getting the flu, maybe. I got my flu shot at work, but I bet I got unlucky..." He sighs, blinking slowly at Becca. His eyeballs are hot. "S'just a fever."

Becca looks at him like she wants to argue but instead, she says, "Okay. We'll give it another day, is that what you want?"

Give what another day? Ugh, whatever. Bucky yawns, nodding, sleep already dragging him back down. "'Kay. Lemme sleep, Becks."

"Hey. You take something, kiddo?"

"Mm. NyQuil."

Becca sighs and stands up. "Okay. Get some sleep, then."

He doesn't need her permission. He's basically already asleep. 

Bucky's dreams are really, _really_ horny. 

They’re so horny that he wakes up sweating, hips rocking into the mattress. He's come on himself, too, and he feels...better. 

He's a gross mess, obviously, and he needs to shower _right now_ and put these sheets into the washer, but he's cooled off a bit.

The sky is gray out, dawn finally pushing at the dark winter sky. Bucky eases out of bed and immediately realizes that his thighs and ass are slick, wet and sticky as he tiptoes gingerly to the bathroom. Goosebumps prickle at his skin while sweat beads at his brow. In the bathroom, he turns the shower on full blast, pushing under the spray as soon as he strips. 

The water is cold on his feverish skin and he hisses, fumbling to turn the temperature up. He relaxes slightly when it comes closer to body temperature, hurriedly rinsing himself off. The scent of his own come and slick is thick in his nose. He reaches for the soap but as soon as the sharp spring scent hits him, he almost gags. 

"Oh no," he whimpers aloud, pressing his forehead to the tiles. "No, no, no."

Hot tears slip down his cheeks. He's not in heat. He's not in heat yet, he can't be. He has a plan for this. He's going to spend it with _Steve_ and it's going to be special. They planned it all out!

No, he's just got a weird flu. He’s not in heat yet.

He shuts off the water and wraps himself up in a towel, stubbornly heading back to the guest room. He can hear Becca and Sharon stirring, soft voices and the creak of feet on hardwood floors, and shuts the door of his room. It's only when he turns that he realizes his sheets are a mess. 

Huffing, he grabs one of his discarded blankets, then strips the bed and puts it down instead, rolling up like a burrito and squeezing his eyes shut. 

Bucky can get through this. It's just some kind of viral infection. He'll be fine in 48 hours.

He is not fine in 48 hours.


	5. Part 5: Steve & Bucky (a love that burns hot enough to last)

**—Steve—**

Steve is sitting on his hotel bed in his boxers, an entire extra large pizza beside him, when his phone rings. He dusts crumbs off his hands and swallows the bite in his mouth, his heart leaping a little excitedly when he sees Bucky's name light up on the screen. 

"Hey, Buck," he says warmly, accepting the call. "What's u—"

"Steve Rogers?" says a woman’s voice.

"Uh," says Steve dumbly, sputtering into stunned silence as he recalibrates. That's not Bucky. That’s definitely not Bucky, which means that someone is calling him from Bucky's phone. Bucky is home for Christmas. If a member of Bucky' family is calling him, then what the fuck is wrong? What _happened_? In the seconds it takes for Steve to process these thoughts, cold fear washes through him. "Yes, hello? Is something wrong? Is Bucky okay?"

"This is Rebecca Barnes, Bucky's sister," says the woman on the phone, and Steve's heart rate spikes. Her voice is very serious. This can't be _good_. "I'm sorry to call like this. I’ll be brief. Bucky isn't hurt or injured, or whatever worst case scenario you just imagined. He has, however, gone into heat."

Fuck. Steve is not generally a slow man, but he is _struggling_ to process this conversation. "Early?" he manages to ask. "Is that—is he—" 

Oh, _shit_. 

"Yes," continues Rebecca, her tone not giving away any of what she's feeling. "Early."

"I'm in Paris," he blurts. He jumps off the bed, then stops, because what the hell is he going to do, run out of here in his underwear? "I arrived yesterday. My flight out is on the 30th—" 

"I see," she says, voice tight. "I don't know if Bucky's told you, but I'm a doctor. I know typically heats are easily managed, even early ones, but I think he is having an adverse reaction and his heat has become dysregulated."

"I—what?" Steve can't process this. It doesn't make sense. Yes, it will be disappointing if he can't be with Bucky during his heat, but it's fine. It's not the end of the world. People ride out heats on their own all the time. Bucky's done it his whole adult life. 

"Dysregulated heats are very dangerous. Instead of a normal heat that self-regulates and ends on its own once the cycle runs its course, his keeps escalating. I'm on the verge of taking him to the hospital for anti-heat therapy, but as you can imagine, I'd like to avoid that."

"You—" Steve breaks off, heart thumping insistently against his ribs. 

Steve is _not_ a doctor, but he does know that anti-heat therapy is harsh and should only be undergone in the most extreme, life-threatening circumstances. 

"The only other cure for a severely dysregulated heat is to satisfy it, but that's typically a nonstarter because it's assumed if there was pre-consent given for a heat partner, they wouldn't have reached this stage to begin with. However, my understanding is that you two have already discussed it?"

Steve puts his phone on speaker and tosses it onto the bed as he scrambles around for a pair of pants. "We have, yes, but I don't understand. He said his heats have always been mild in the past!"

Rebecca makes an irritated sound. "He's also never formed a bond with an Alpha before. He's never spent a heat with _anyone_ before!" She says it like she may as well be saying 'You idiot! You completely useless blockhead!'

"So—So this is my fault?" He yanks on a pair of jeans and grabs the first shirt he finds, pulling that on too.

Another belabored sigh. "Yes and no. It's no one's fault. Evolutionary response." She sounds tired. "Can you get here or not?"

"I can be there in under 12 hours, maybe closer to 10, depending on when I can get a flight."

"Fine, he'll probably be okay until then. Hurry."

He makes it back to New York in just under 10 hours. 

Helped _fully_ by abusing Pepper's resources since she seems to know someone from everywhere and a bit of luck regarding flight times and available seats, he touches down at JFK and immediately grabs a cab to Brooklyn. Rebecca told him to text Bucky's phone again when he was close, so he sits anxiously in the cab, opening up his last conversation with Bucky. 

**Steve** : I'm on my way, ETA about 30 minutes  
**Bucky** : Great. We've packed up a bag for Jamie with everything he needs. I trust your home is equipped to care for him appropriately?  
**Steve** : Yes, just stocked thinking this would be happening on the 1st  
**Bucky** : When you arrive, I'll be the one driving you to your place. I don't trust putting him in a cab like this.  
**Steve** : That's fair. Of course.  
**Bucky** : See you soon.

Bucky's sister lives in a very nice neighborhood. The cab drops him off with his suitcase and Steve hurries up the drive to ring the bell. When a severe-looking woman with slate gray eyes and dark brown hair answers the door, Steve's brain immediately catalogs her as _Bucky's family_ and _Alpha_. The other part of his brain that's deeply wired into his anxiety and worry for Bucky registers Bucky's scent on her, thick and sweet and almost sickly. 

"Steve Rogers," Rebecca Barnes says, exactly like she greeted him on the phone. "Good. You're here. Please go through the side door into the garage," she directs, pointing. "You can put your suitcase in the trunk. Bucky's is already in there. Get in the back of the car and wait while I help Bucky down to the car."

Steve hesitates, the back of his neck prickly. "You don't need me to help you bring him down?"

Rebecca's jaw flexes and they’re suddenly plunged into a mild to moderate staring contest. It takes everything in Steve to meet her eyes steadily, showing no weakness but no aggression either, until finally, _finally_ she says, "I don't know what his reaction to you will be. I'd rather increase the likelihood you two will actually make it to your place and we won't have to vacate ours."

"Okay." That makes sense. Steve can deal with that, can acknowledge the practicality of that plan. He hates it, wants to get Bucky in his arms as fast as possible, but he understands. "I'll just...go get in the car."

Rebecca nods and then closes the door in his face, leaving Steve's heart hammering. He whips around and hurries to the car, following her instructions. He's sitting there rigidly, white-knuckling his knees, when the garage door opens and Rebecca walks out with Bucky in her arms. He’s wrapped in a blanket, looking smaller than he ever has with his body swallowed up in the soft fleece. Heart in his throat, Steve opens the back door as Rebecca approaches and his nose is immediately filled with Bucky's scent—

It’s all wrong. Sickeningly sweet, with awful notes of sourness. 

He reaches out for him wordlessly and Rebecca hands him over, lips pursed. "Careful!"

"I will be," he assures her, trying to keep the sharpness out of his voice because this is _his_ Omega, _his_ Bucky that he wraps up in his arms. Bucky moans, eyelids fluttering open, stormy eyes swallowed up in black.

He looks awful, sallow and pale, with dark circles under his eyes; his skin is hot, flushed, and sheened lightly with sweat, his normally carefully-styled hair matted down, curly and damp.

"Steve," sighs Bucky, blinking rapidly. His eyes are glossy, eyelashes clumped with tacky tears, and the relief in his voice punches Steve right in the sternum. " _Steve_."

Steve is only distantly aware of Rebecca closing the car door and getting into the driver's seat, focused fully on Bucky burrowing into Steve's arms and shoving his entire face into Steve's throat. He's instinctively scenting him, nose tucked under Steve's jaw to snuffle frantically at the gland there, folding himself up to be held. 

"Hey," Steve murmurs, overwhelmed by the thick press of Bucky's cloying scent in his nose. "Hey, Buck, hey, I've got you. I'm here. I'm so sorry. You haven't been feeling good, huh?"

"You're in Paris," mumbles Bucky. "I told Becca... I tried to tell her, I'm sorry."

"I need your address," Rebecca says from the front seat. 

Steve recites it carefully, watching her input it into the GPS, and then buries his hand in Bucky's hair, stroking gently. "It's okay. I'm here, because this is where I should be."

Bucky makes a sad little noise, as if he can't believe it or just doesn’t understand, but he doesn't stop clinging to Steve and Steve refuses to let go. He murmurs to Bucky softly, cuddling and scenting him gently and trying to tell himself it'll be fine once they're safe at Steve's place. The drive from Rebecca's isn't that far and within twenty minutes, they're pulling up to his building. "I can get your bags if you want to carry Bucky inside."

Steve nods and repositions Bucky in his arms as he takes the stairs two at a time, jamming his keys in the lock as fast as he can, though it's an awkward go of it. Eventually, though, he has Bucky in his home. He's already headed for the bedroom when Rebecca comes in behind them. Distantly he hears her raise her voice to say, "Call me if he doesn't get better in the first thirty minutes. I texted you my number from Bucky's phone!"

"I will! Thank you!" Steve trusts that Rebecca can let herself out, turning his attention fully to Bucky. He pushes open his bedroom door and closes it behind him with his foot. 

In his arms, Bucky shivers, blinking slowly with huge eyes. "Where are we?"

"My place, sweetheart. I've got you."

Bucky blinks again, looking around the bedroom, then tucks his face in Steve's throat and inhales deeply like he's reassuring himself that Steve is real. "You were in Paris."

"I flew back," Steve says softly, walking to the foot of the bed. They need to get undressed and under the covers, first. Bucky will want to nest, eventually, but for now, Steve just needs to be as close to him as possible until his body can bounce back from the stress of unfulfilled, dysregulated heat. 

In their last, brief phone conversation as Steve waited at the airport gate, Rebecca had impatiently answered Steve's desperate, "But how is it triggering _early_?" with, "Because his body is responding poorly to your absence," which had stopped Steve dead in his frantic pacing. 

"...What?"

"It's not common," Rebecca said. "But for someone...inexperienced, forming such a strong bond so fast.... He basically went into withdrawal. You spent so much time together that leaving him alone so close to his heat forced him into a stress response."

"So it was my fault, like you said," Steve murmured, rubbing at his forehead. 

"I didn't say it was your fault. I explicitly said it was no one's fault," repeated Rebecca in that condescending way that Steve was hoping could be put off to the stress and wasn't an intrinsic part of her personality. "Nobody could have known. He'll be fine once you get here, so just _get_ here." She didn’t sound happy about it and Steve did not blame her. This wasn’t how he anticipated meeting Bucky’s older sister. 

Back in the present, Steve considers putting Bucky down in the bed while he strips down, and then decides it probably won't go over well, even if he'd really like to get out of his plane clothes. He sits down instead and scoots up to lean on the pillows, Bucky cradled in his arms, and just sits.

Rebecca said he should feel more settled and normal in half an hour or less. Once he stabilizes, then Steve can actually help them both prepare to deal with Bucky's heat.

Bucky takes deep, ragged breaths, scenting Steve again and again, rubbing his face against Steve's throat, mouthing at Steve's scent glands. Steve does what he can, rubbing his wrists against Bucky, helping to mingle their scents together. He kisses Bucky's soft hair, murmuring gently to him. "It's okay, honey. I'm here. I'm so glad to be with you, so happy you're letting me be with you during your heat."

Bucky makes a worried sound. "I'm sorry it came early. I'm sorry it's so terrible."

He's sounding more coherent, at least, but Steve's not a fan of how miserable and embarrassed he seems. 

"Honey, no, you don't have to apologize. This isn't your fault, you couldn't have predicted it would happen." He nuzzles at Bucky, tightening his hold. "I'm only sad you had to hurt for so long until I could get to you."

"Can't believe you came all the way from Paris," croaks Bucky, finally pushing back enough to look at Steve. His eyes are rimmed in red and he has to wipe away tears, but he already seems so, so much better, color returning to his face. "The first time I want to share a heat with someone and it has to be as dramatic as possible!"

"Well, at least it'll be memorable?" suggests Steve, lifting one shoulder and risking a small smile. 

Bucky predictably huffs as Steve skates the fine line of laughing with him rather than at him, giving him the cutest scowl. "It had better be memorable regardless of how it started!"

Steve fully cracks up, laughing delightedly as he leans in to catch Bucky's mouth in a kiss. "I promise, sweetheart."

Laying his head on Steve's shoulder, Bucky sighs softly. "Can't believe how much better I feel, just being around you."

"Yeah?" Steve's takes a deep breath. Bucky's scent has already improved. There's still the sweetness of heat, perhaps a little stronger than Steve might normally expect, but there's no undercurrent of sickness there. "Think we can maybe get cleaned up before it gets too intense again?" Even if Bucky doesn't feel _sick_ anymore, his heat will still leave him fevered and needy, despite the addition of Steve's scent, and Becca had been clear that his hormonal response wouldn't be able to start winding down without being satisfied.

Steve's absolutely sure she never wanted to give that much medical advice regarding her brother's heats or sex life.

Bucky sighs, sagging into Steve's arms and nodding. "Yeah. Did you come straight from the airport?"

"I did," says Steve. "I don't want to cuddle you in clothes I wore on a plane for eight hours, Buck. I need a shower, but we can take one together."

"Yeah?" Bucky nods again. "That would feel good."

Steve gets up from the bed, every inch of him reluctant to let Bucky go at all for any reason, and carries him into the bathroom, where he sets him down for the first time on the edge of the big jacuzzi tub. For a moment, Bucky clings, arms tight around Steve's neck, but then he untangles himself, letting Steve straighten up to strip out of his clothes and dump them in the hamper. 

"Bath or shower?" asks Steve, turning on the tap and letting the water run.

"Bath?" says Bucky. "My legs still feel kinda shaky."

"Bath it is." Steve pops in the plug and finds an unscented, soothing bubble bath to pour in while the tub fills. "You'll feel a lot better once we're both clean and in bed together, okay?"

"I know," says Bucky shyly. "I'm sorry about how it happened, but I'm....happy it's happening. I've been thinking about it for so long. I really missed you."

"I missed you too," says Steve, curling a hand around Bucky's jaw to tip his chin up for a kiss. 

When the tub is full, Steve steps in, helping Bucky sit down between his legs so that Steve can wrap his arms around him and settle Bucky against his chest. As soon as Bucky leans back, he lets out a deep sigh of relief, slumping into Steve's arms. 

"That's it," murmurs Steve. "I've got you. Nothing to worry about anymore, okay?"

"Okay," agrees Bucky, warm and safe in his arms. "Is...everything okay with your trip, though?"

"It's fine," says Steve firmly. "We'll reschedule. I already moved my time off and reached out to Pepper to let her know."

"Oh," says Bucky. "Do I need to—"

"Well, given that we already have a relationship statement on file, I went ahead and let her know it was with you. I hope that's okay?"

Any worry that Steve misstepped is quickly alleviated by Bucky relaxing against him. "Yes, thank you, that's a relief."

"Good." He kisses Bucky's shoulder and reaches for the cycle-gentle soap ( _Good for heats or ruts!_ ), knowing how sensitive his own nose is during ruts. He soaps up the washcloth and begins to wash them both up carefully. Bucky tips his head back against Steve's shoulder, his lips parting in a soft moan, barely audible. It makes Steve shiver, for the first time beginning to catalog his own body's responses to being around an Omega in heat. 

"Buck," he rumbles, nosing behind Bucky's ear. "You smell so good."

"You—you too." Bucky shifts in his lap, rubbing against Steve. "I—can you hurry? Please?"

Steve sucks in a sharp breath. "Yeah, honey, I will." Remaining as gentle as he can, he goes through the motions of cleaning them up, soaping up Bucky's hair and then his own, rinsing it all with mindful hands. Bucky's trembling by the time he's done rinsing out the suds and draining the tub.

It's a relief to see Bucky so much heartier and more responsive, remembering how Steve's entire stomach had dropped out to see him less than an hour ago. His flush is healthy, now, his scent that spicy and sweet combination that practically makes Steve's mouth water. 

There seem to be no adverse effects from early onset heat in the absence of his Alpha—of _Steve_ —and when Steve helps him out of the tub and gets him dried off with a clean fluffy towel, Bucky is very clearly _ready_. Steve is careful as he rubs Bucky down with the towel, patting very gently at his plump cock, but Bucky grinds into him reflexively, his cheeks rosy. 

"Sorry," he mumbles, looking at Steve with big eyes, his pupils dilated. "I'm...wet."

"I know, baby," Steve says soothingly. "Just a second and we can get into bed." He piles the towel on Bucky's head, scrubbing at his curls. 

"No," says Bucky, voice muffled by the towel. "I'm _wet_. Steve, I don't care about my hair, please just...I need you to _fuck me_."

When the words hit Steve, when they _really_ hit him, he very nearly doubles over from how hard and fast the blood rushes to his cock. He clings to the towel he's holding, reining himself in while he takes a deep breath—which doesn't actually help at all because it's just fills his head like a balloon with the scent of Bucky, of his arousal, his _heat_. 

" _Steve_ ," he whines, his hand on Steve's shoulder. "Steve, please?"

Steve makes a harsh sound, a _growl_ , and then he's nodding mindlessly, scooping Bucky up in his arms without another word and carrying him to his bed. He doesn't let go of him as he yanks the bedding out of the way, laying Bucky down beneath him. Steve's mouth finds Bucky's without hesitation, hungry kisses that lick the urgent little grunts Bucky's making right out of his mouth. Bucky's legs spread around Steve's hips to cradle him, drawing him closer, and Steve is dizzy with the rising mix of their scents. 

"Buck," he pants. "Tell me what you want. Tell me what you need. How do you want me?"

Bucky whines, pulling sharply on Steve's hair, kissing him, biting at Steve's mouth and with a sudden burst of strength, he shoves Steve back. Steve lands on his ass, a little dazed with his legs akimbo, but before he can say anything, Bucky has rolled over onto his chest, knees pulled up under him, hips arched back— _presenting_ for Steve. "Steve, I—like this, I need it, I _need_ it."

The rush of blood to his cock is like a punch to the gut. Steve’s head spins while he pants raggedly for a long moment, until he can rise back up onto his knees and crawl behind Bucky. 

"You look...." Steve groans, passing a hand reverently over Bucky's hip. Bucky is all flushed, freckled skin, sweat sheening his body; while his scent is that familiar, warm spice of cinnamon and sugar, it's heightened by the fever gripping him, and Steve feels like he's greedily gulping it down, drawing in deep breaths to fill his lungs and body and _soul_. 

While Steve has a great time when he's in rut, he likes this better. Fulfilling an Omega has always just felt _better_ , because it dials into that primal need to be _needed_. It flips a switch in Steve, brings him right to the same level as his partner, and overcome by this, he cups Bucky's pert little ass in both hands and spreads his cheeks.

"Oh god," squeaks Bucky. "Steve, I—"

"I'm gonna lick you here," Steve says roughly. "That okay?"

"Uh huh." Bucky is panting, body tense and trembling. "But you're not gonna make me wait forever, right? I feel like I'm gonna explode out of my skin."

"I know, honey," says Steve. He wants to be obscene about it, wants to shove his face in and scent Bucky right over his little pink hole, get that slick on his tongue, give some attention to Bucky's tight balls, nose at the soft, sensitive skin of his perineum, but—

Instead, he's as measured as he can be. Give Bucky a bit of relief, first, take the edge off, and then when it builds again, he can take Bucky apart more slowly, explore every inch of him with his mouth. 

He does thumb at Bucky's twitching hole, leaning in to lick right over the delicate muscle.

Bucky makes a startled sound above him, shocked and high, and he shoves his hips back into Steve. He steadies Bucky, hands gripping tight on his ass, keeping him in place, keeping him spread. Bucky is wet, so very, deliciously wet, and that first taste is incredible. Bucky's scent is thick and decadent, his cries filling Steve's ears as he eats Bucky out, open-mouthed kisses and filthy sucking licks. He goes as long as he thinks Bucky will tolerate, goes until he's wiggling his tongue inside of his soft, pliant hole, thrusting inside until Bucky's hand thumps against the headboard. 

" _Steve_!" he sobs. "Steve, I can't, I need— _Please_ , fuck me!"

There's no more denying it after that, no more holding Bucky off. Steve's slides his hands from where he’s just cupping the perfect twin globes of his ass to around his hips, fingers curling around and guiding Bucky into the perfect presentation, spine arching and knees splayed. "I've got you, I've got you."

Bucky is shaking bodily, but as Steve runs his hand up and down his spine, he notices his own tremble, settling his wide palm on the small of Bucky's back. With his other hand, he wraps his fingers around his own cock, biting back a groan at the stimulation.

"I won’t knot you right away," says Steve, voice strained. He gives his throbbing cock a squeeze and guides himself to the vulnerable clutch of Bucky's body. He presses gently against Bucky's back to steady him, the head of his cock tucked blunt against Bucky's slick hole. 

They're both _so_ ready, but this is only the first stage of Bucky's heat; still, though, Bucky actually _whines_ at him. "Why not?"

"I don't want to rush it, sweetheart," says Steve, pressing in just a little, because he can't help it. "Oh, fuck.... We'll both feel better if we indulge a bit. Think of it like round one, okay? This will take the edge off, let us slow down a little."

Bucky shudders, hips rocking back a little onto Steve, moaning. "Okay! Okay, okay, don't stop there, Steve, _please_!"

"Okay," murmurs Steve. "Okay, I've got you. Easy, now." Bucky is open, yes, he's ready, but as Steve slowly, carefully pushes inside him, it's still a deliciously tight fit.

Bucky makes a primal sound, dragged from his chest and throat, fingers scrabbling against the bedding. "Steve!"

"Yeah?" groans Steve as his cock sinks in deeper still, "Yeah, does that feel good, sugar?"

Bucky's response is wordless, low, desperate moans as his back arches into the press of Steve’s cock, mindless grunts as he takes it, as he's filled up. It's the most erotic sight Steve has ever been privileged to witness, the pure, unabashed need, the way he's fully embracing his instincts. Steve rocks his hips back and forth until he's fully seated, until they're both panting breathlessly together, until they're both moving in sync. 

Every thrust, every rock is met by Bucky, Steve's arms wrapping around him, his mouth leaving kisses across his shoulders. They end up tipped more onto their sides than completely on their knees, rutting together in a writhe of limbs and sweat and slick. Every wet plunge into Bucky is a test of Steve’s willpower over his body, to resist knotting, to resist filling him up as Bucky's tight hole clutches and spasms around him.

Instead of focusing on his own need, on the insistent urge to _knot his Omega_ , Steve hooks one arm around Bucky's waist to hold him close while he wraps his free hand around Bucky's hot, swollen cock. 

"Oh," gasps Bucky, breathless, his hips jerking needily into Steve's grip. "Oh, f-fuck, Steve, oh my god—"

"I know, Buck," murmurs Steve, lips brushing the shell of Bucky's ear. He presses kisses there, behind his ear, down the back of his neck. "I know, I know."

"Ah!" cries Bucky, grinding restlessly back onto the steady plunge of Steve's cock. He moves into him, onto him, hips rolling, "Ah, fuck, yes, god, I'm...I'm so close, please..."

Steve tightens his grip on Bucky's shaft, curling his thumb around the head to rub into the wet, sensitive slit. 

It rips a heady groan out of Bucky, precome spurting out of him, slicking his hand.

"That's it, Buck, that's so good," praises Steve, mouthing at his neck and shoulder, nose dragging through the soft curls of Bucky's hair, breathing in the rich scent of him, the spice and sugar. He moves his hand over Bucky's cock, again and again, hips rocking against him, the slick mess of him wetting up Steve's crotch and thighs. They slip together, moving and fucking, Bucky's voice babbling out in an unending plea for more until finally his voice catches and his body goes rigid and he cries out. 

His slick gushes around Steve's cock, making obscene noises as he comes over Steve's fist, shaking and shivering. "Ohhhh," sobs Bucky, voice cracking under the strain. "Steve, Steve, _oh god_."

Steve milks him through it, until the last shaky sigh leaves him and Steve can let him go and take hold of his own cock, squeezing tight around the base just in time, his knot heavy and thick in his hand as it swells up and he paints the back of Bucky's thighs, his ass, his puffy pink hole with come.

Bucky is soft and pliant in his arms, breathing quickly as he comes down from his orgasm, sprawled with one leg hitched up, face buried in his arms. 

Steve props himself up on one hand to lean protectively over Bucky, peppering kisses over his shoulder and down his arm, greedily drinking in the sight of him so sated. The dumb Alpha instinct that's reared up in back of Steve's brain in response to Bucky's heat feels smug and satisfied. He did this. He made his Omega come, he reduced him to this debauched mess in his arms, sticky and sweaty and drenched in Steve's scent. 

"Okay, Buck?" he murmurs, snuffling at him eagerly. 

"Mm," mumbles Bucky, eyes firmly closed, shivering against Steve. He's a contented lump, warm and lazy. Steve's lump, scented thoroughly, resting until he's ready for more. 

"You need a drink? A washcloth?" Steve shoves his nose under Bucky's jaw, kissing and suckling gently at the closest scent gland. "A snack?"

Bucky twitches, a laugh bubbling out of him, and he puts his hand over Steve's face, shoving weakly. "Tickles!"

Steve grins helplessly, nipping at Bucky's fingers when they get in range, wriggling his own fingertips against Bucky's sensitive underarms and along his ribs, listening to him squeal and kick and laugh. "Noooooo, mercy, mercy!"

Steve relents, pressing one more kiss to Bucky's shoulder before he finally pushes up. Bucky rolls completely onto his back, gazing up at Steve with crinkled eyes and a flushed face, happy and content. _Fuck_. Steve did that.

"Hey, honey," he murmurs softly, as if there's a need for quiet. The sun is setting outside, casting the room in oranges and pinks and dark shadows, a golden glow that feels like it was created just for them. 

Bucky's grin softens and he reaches up, combing his fingers through Steve's sweaty hair. "Thank you for coming home, for taking care of me."

"Always," returns Steve, more fiercely than he intended but not more than he means. "I'll always take care of you, Buck. I want to, makes me so happy to know you're safe and happy."

Bucky nods, still combing gently through Steve's hair. "I am happy."

"Good." Steve kisses his cheek and then his mouth. "Let me get you something to eat? Some water?"

"Okay," agrees Bucky. "I'm just gonna go get cleaned up a little, go to the bathroom."

Steve leans back, watching as Bucky sits up and scoots to the edge of the bed, taking a moment to get his balance. "You need help?"

Bucky shakes his head. "No, I...I feel better. The next wave of my heat will be soon, though."

"I know, baby," says Steve, watching him totter unsteadily to the bathroom and resisting the urge to sweep him into his arms and carry him there himself. 

He can smell it, the simmering warmth burning under Bucky's skin, and the instinctive urge to crowd him, coddle him, keep him close in his arms, where he can snuffle and sniff and scent him as much as his body wants him to. Instead of giving into the ridiculous desire to follow Bucky into the bathroom, he pads naked into the kitchen.

If he can't be actively pulling Bucky into his arms, then he _can_ focus on providing for him. 

He fills up bottles of water for them both, then rifles through his pantry, coming up with some packages of protein bars and peanut butter crackers. After the next round, he'll likely order them some food, but for now, snacks will do. He doublechecks that his door is locked, remembering that he never quite got around to it, and with his foraging in hand, he returns to the bedroom just as Bucky emerges from the bathroom. He looks and smells like had a quick rinse under the shower, skin flushed warm and a bit damp, hair tumbled over in wet locks. 

Steve dumps the water and snacks on the bedside table, taking in a deep breath to fill his lungs with Bucky's scent. 

When Bucky looks at him, his pupils are huge, swallowing up the slate gray of his eyes, cheeks rosy from the heat of the shower and the rising heat of his body.

" _Steve_." It comes out hoarse, like Bucky's been screaming for hours, or maybe like he's parched and desperate for a drink. 

Steve forces himself to not react purely on instinct, or at least not his first instinct. "Hey, Buck, how are you feeling?"

Bucky licks his lips. "I—I think I need..." His lower lip inexplicably trembles, his voice coming out wobbly and barely above a whisper. "It hurts and I'm st-still so _wet_."

"Okay, that's okay. We'll fix it, but I need you to drink this water and eat one of these bars for me first." Steve's hands are shaking. "Can you handle that?"

"I don't know," he whimpers, starting to squirm on the spot. 

Steve opens his mouth to respond and his eyes suddenly catch on the gleam between Bucky's thighs as—as _slick_ drips down. He makes an unintelligible sound and then snaps his eyes closed for a moment, forcing himself under control. This is going to be one hell of a heat. "Just the water, then, for now." He turns deliberately and picks up one of the bottles, tossing it to the other end of the bed. He needs to keep distance between them for just long enough to make sure Bucky is safe for what's going to come next.

Bucky's arousal is spiking in a physical, palpable way, the scent of his slick and sweat flooding Steve's nose. He tenses up as it feeds into his own physiological response to _Omega in heat_ but he curls his hands into fists, back to Bucky, and sits calmly on the edge of the bed. 

He can hear Bucky's shaky breaths behind him, the _click_ of the bottle's cap, the bob of his throat as he gulps down water. 

Steve sits perfectly still, and he breathes in shallowly through his mouth, eyes tightly closed. 

"Steve," says Bucky roughly. There's a catch to his voice, rough and needy, and Steve digs his fingernails into his palms. 

"Yeah, Buck? You drink it all?"

The bed dips, Bucky shifting closer. "Most of it."

"Can you eat something?" Steve stays put a second longer, trying to breathe through it as Bucky crawls closer. 

"No. Steve—"

"Okay," Steve says tensely. "You sure?"

"I'm sure, I'm sure. _Please_." Bucky's hand brushes over his shoulder, clammy with sweat already. 

Steve turns into the touch between one breath and the next, rolling Bucky under him as he whines and wraps his legs around Steve's hips. "Bucky," he groans, nosing at Bucky's throat, kissing the purpling bruise he can see already forming where he couldn't stop from marking up Bucky just a little, a hint of what he wants to place there, some day. "God, you smell so good, you're so amazing. I"ll take care of you."

Bucky pushes his fingers through Steve's hair, tugging him down for a kiss, nodding. "Yeah, need you, need you to fuck me, need you to knot me. It aches, it _hurts_."

Steve's heard that in passing before, that sometimes an Omega can get so wound up, especially if their heat satisfaction is delayed, that it starts to hurt them, that it will hurt like pressing on a bruise when they're finally knotted, that they'll want it anyway. He always sort of believed it was an urban legend, something young, dumb knothead Alphas told each other. Except all the Omegas Steve's ever helped through a heat were experienced and it was a planned heat. Not this, and not his sweet Bucky.

"Fuck, okay, okay," he pants, nodding vaguely, blinking through the sweat dripping from his brow as his body responds to Bucky's. He mouths at Bucky's skin, across his jaw, reaching down between them to grip his cock, rub it against the vulnerable clutch of Bucky’s body. "Like this, sugar? You want it like this?"

" _Yes_ , please!" Bucky sobs, hitching his hips up, angling his body to grind himself onto Steve's cock as he guides himself into Bucky's hot, slick hole. 

It doesn't take much, Steve meeting no resistance as he pushes inside Bucky with a thick groan. Bucky's thighs tighten around Steve's hips, pulling him in deep, and Bucky bares his throat as his head tips back into the rumpled pillows. His chest rises and falls with quick breaths, body taut as he works himself back onto the plunge of Steve's hips. 

"Oh," Steve mumbles, wrapping his arms around Bucky's shoulders and burying his face in the hollow of Bucky's throat. "Oh, you feel so good, Buck."

Bucky draws in a deep breath that bleeds into a whimper, his heels digging into Steve's back as they move together. He's frantic with it now, body rolling with increasing urgency, fingers digging into Steve's back. "S-Steve, oh, fuck, _Steve_!"

"I like it better like this," Steve babbles, enveloped snug inside Bucky's tender core, lit with burgeoning desire for everything Bucky wants to give him. "Looking into your sweet face like this, Buck, holding you like this—"

"Please, please, please," chants Bucky, clutching at him so tightly, " _Please_ give it to me!"

Bucky is nearly inconsolable, desperation writ in every touch, every sob. Steve's feels every part of himself respond, the need to protect and claim and satisfy is like a klaxon going off in his brain. His hips work relentlessly, slapping into Bucky's needy body, his knot already growing, catching on Bucky's rim with each stroke. 

"I am, I will," he swears. "Just take it, take it for me."

Fresh tears spill down Bucky's cheeks, lashes clumped, lips an obscene pink, full and open wide around the enticing sounds Bucky is making. A litany of breathy _ah, ah, ah_ s hitch out, catching in his lungs. He grips Steve tighter, pulling at him everywhere he can reach, everything about him an invitation for Steve to _fuck_ , to fill him up, to blow his knot and tie them together.

"You want it, Buck?" he hears himself ask, voice wrecked. "You want me to fill you up, sugar? Make you take it, lock up your sweet little hole with my knot? You want that, wanna get just what you need? What you were made to take?"

Bucky sobs. "Y-yes, yes, Steve, please, knot me, I need it, I—" Bucky cuts off with a sharp, wounded sound as Steve _does_ , as he shoves in deep and his knot pops, pushing relentlessly against Bucky's slick, pulsing walls, tying them together. Bucky's cock spurts helplessly between them as Steve gives one last little rock, rubbing that ache just right.

With a rough cry, Bucky clenches reflexively, squeezing hot and tight around Steve buried deep inside him. He's panting raggedly, body trembling, and Steve buries his face in Bucky's shoulder and breathes through the aftershocks of his orgasm. 

"Ohmygod," mumbles Bucky. "You—I'm—fuck, Steve."

"You okay, baby?" Steve manages to say, rubbing his last two functioning brain cells together to create words. Bucky's pinned heavily under him, filled up snug with Steve's swollen knot, and when Steve manages to lift his head to drag his nose along Bucky's jaw and look him over, Bucky's sniffling through tears, his face flushed. "Hey. Hey. Okay?"

Bucky nods, the tip of his nose pink, tears spilling down his cheeks when he blinks. He's a mess. Steve did this. Steve messed him up, made him cry, Steve fucked him into incoherence. 

There's a pleased hum at the back of Steve's brain, smug and proud, because even though Steve's logical brain is worried by the tears, Steve's senses are satisfied. Bucky doesn't smell at all distressed. His scent is heavy and rich, _sated_ , so weighted with happy Omega hormones that Steve's animal brain ego is getting a good healthy stroke. 

"Weighted blanket," Bucky mumbles.

"What?" Steve huffs another deep breath, lips sealing against Bucky's throat in a lazy kiss. 

"You're like a weighted blanket." Bucky pats at Steve's shoulder, body rippling around Steve as he squirms a little. "Oh, fuck, you're big."

Steve lets out a breathless chuckle, relaxing at Bucky's joke. He's fine, he's okay. Steve did good. "You're a real boost to my ego, sweetheart."

Bucky snorts. "As if you need any help with that," he sighs, jaw cracking on a yawn. He shifts again, the movement tugging on their connection, making them both hiss. "Sorry, sorry, my—um, my hips are kind of sore."

Steve rumbles, nosing under Bucky's jaw idly until the information penetrates his dopey Alpha fog. "Hmmm? Oh. M'sorry, Buck, lemme, hold on, let's just—" Wrapping his arms tight around Bucky, he rolls them until Bucky is over him instead of caught beneath him. "That make it easier to get comfy?"

Bucky squeaks, blinking down at him with a dazed expression. "A little more warning next time, but—" He breaks off, biting his lip as he adjusts his position, carefully drawing his knees up until he's perched atop Steve, relieving some of the pressure on his hips. They both shiver a bit at the way his body ripples and shifts around Steve's knot, but it settles when he's still. "Ah, that's better."

"Aren't you a pretty sight," Steve says dumbly, sliding his hands up over Bucky's hips to squeeze teasingly at his pert little ass. He gazes up at Bucky with what he's sure is an extremely stupid grin.

The color that floods Bucky's cheeks is very charming. His expression is temptingly shy, a smile spreading over his lips as he looks down at Steve through his lashes. He leans forward a little, propping himself up over Steve with his hands planted on Steve's shoulders. 

"The prettiest picture," Steve murmurs. 

Bucky bites his lip, coy, and oh, he's definitely playing it up, now, rolling his hips very gently as he sits firmly on Steve's cock. 

"Is that how it is?" Steve rumbles, sweeping his hands up and down Bucky's body. "You teasin' me?"

"You're the one that's got your dick literally stuck in me," Bucky says. "I am the one being pretty relentlessly teased."

"Oh yeah?" asks Steve, eyes heavy with the creeping, happy exhaustion of being knotted inside an Omega. Like a fat cat who got the cream. "You like how that feels? All full up, honey?"

Bucky nods, tipping his head back as his eyes slip closed, hips moving in a gentle motion reminiscent of circling a hula hoop around them, but infinitely, torturously slower. Bucky's lips part in a soft, " _Oh_."

Steve can't help but shiver head to toe, the rhythmic grind on his knot sending aftershocks sizzling through him, bright and painfully good. He groans, hands gripping Bucky's hips, not to stop him or control him, but to anchor himself as his toes curl. "Bucky—"

"Yeahhh," moans Bucky, wanton in his ecstasy, in taking his pleasure from his Alpha now that he's here, Steve locked up inside of him, at his mercy. He looks drunk off of the feeling, a little shocked as he gasps, "Oh my god, Steve."

"Fuck, that's—that's so good, you're so good. Take what you need, baby, that's it. Use my knot in that hot little hole," babbles Steve, a little unhinged at the sight of his good little Omega giving into his heat so thoroughly. It's _dazzling_.

Steve isn't going to be able to come from this yet while his knot is still swollen so soon after an orgasm, but it looks like Bucky is ready to go again. Steve watches with stars in his eyes as Bucky's cock plumps up between them, the head flushed and wet as he circles his hips and gasps at each deep rock of his body. 

It's a privilege to even be allowed to see a sight this pretty, let alone be the one that's giving Bucky the use of his cock for this. Bucky's so caught up in his own pleasure, unself-conscious and more confident than Steve's ever seen him, knees splayed, grinding onto Steve with breathless abandon. 

Coming to his senses a little, Steve reaches for Bucky's cock, now curved up against his belly, precome beading at the tip, but Bucky groans, shaking his head. "N-no, wait."

"No?" echoes Steve, redirecting his hand to Bucky's hip. 

"I think I can....come just from this," says Bucky, spots of color high on Bucky's cheeks. "I'm—so close, fuck, oh my _god_."

Arousal zings down Steve's spine like an electric shock. Bucky's almost bouncing in his lap, now, Steve's knot tugging pleasurably at his rim. He's on the very precipice of pleasure, soft sounds spilling out of his parted lips as he fucks himself on Steve. 

"That's it, baby," Steve whispers, voice shredded. "You can take it, you can take whatever you want, it's yours. I'll give you anything you want, you're so close, huh? I see it, I've got you—"

He tightens his grip on Bucky's thighs, swallowing a moan as Bucky clenches up tight, squeezing Steve's tender knot like a vise. Head tossed back, he cries out as he comes, cock spurting over Steve's belly and chest.

Bucky twitches, suddenly uncoordinated, all the grace he exuded as he chased his climax gone rigid as he trembles through his orgasm, collapsing in a heap over Steve. Bucky jerks with the aftershocks, tightening and releasing again and again until gradually his breaths even out and he relaxes, a heavy lump on Steve's chest. 

Steve rubs his back, kissing his hair, murmuring praise as he attempts to catch his own breath, his knot finally starting to go down but feeling so tender now, oversensitive. "That was so beautiful," he whispers against Bucky's soft, silky curls, damp with sweat. "Thank you for showing me that, letting me see, letting me be any part of it."

Bucky makes a soft noise, and then his lips brush against Steve's skin, kisses placed gently all across his chest. As Bucky finally lifts his head again, shifts his weight to sit up, Steve's cock softens enough to slip free and they both tense up a moment, a hitch in their breath, a skip in their heartbeat. 

"I didn't think—I mean, I knew that it would be good? Or I hoped, you know, but I didn't know I was capable of feeling like that, like _this_ ," says Bucky, color still high on his sweaty face, making it difficult to tell if he's embarrassed or just overheated. "Thank you, Steve, for—" He shrugs, and now his eyes look glassy with unshed tears, but he pushes on. "For always making me feel safe with you, so I could have this."

Steve can't really stand it, just listening to Bucky's earnest, wobbly voice, his arms full of his pliant, sated body— 

It's too much for his overloaded senses to handle, the praise and satisfaction of a job so well done that his partner thinks he needs to thank him for it; Steve rolls Bucky under him, crowding him securely and tipping his chin up so Steve can seal their lips together in a heated kiss. 

Bucky moans into his mouth, eyelashes fluttering closed, fingers curling around Steve's shoulders to cling to him. When they finally break apart, they're both breathing hard, and Bucky's lost none of that glassy-eyed wonder. 

It isn't a job well done because it isn't a _job_ , he thinks dazedly. It's how his body processes it, though. Happy hormones and a warm rush of pride at the bloom of Bucky's scent. Steve can smell how happy he is, how joyful and content, and he's riding high on the complementary bliss of how happy that makes _Steve_. 

"You don't have to thank me," Steve says gruffly, nosing at Bucky's throat and kissing him again and again. "It is my distinct pleasure, Buck. You make me so happy."

Bucky's hands tighten as he clings, scenting Steve right back, until it becomes almost impossible to separate their scents, the air in Steve's room thick with the two of them. It makes Steve rumble with unrestrained pride, knowing he'll walk out of here carrying the mark of their heat spent together for weeks. People will know that Steve was with him, that he got to provide for Bucky this way. Bucky chose him.

God, he can already hear Natasha telling him he's insufferable for the way he'll have a bounce to his step when he goes back to work. 

Bucky must sense his amusement, because he asks fondly, "What? What is it?"

Steve lifts his head, grinning. "Just thinking about how much I like our scents like this, so mixed up until you can't tell one apart from the other."

"Uh huh." Bucky rolls his eyes, shoving at Steve's shoulder. "You're thinking about everyone smelling us all over each other when we get back!"

"Well, so what if I am? They already know we're together. I like it. I like that everyone knows I'm yours."

"Possessive is what you are," huffs Bucky, but he looks very pleased despite the reprimand. "You like it just as much, everyone knowing I'm _yours_."

"Yeah, I do." Steve hums, kissing over Bucky's neck and jaw, unrepentant. "But you know what I'd like even more than either of those things?"

"What?"

"If I could convince you to eat something before round three."

Bucky grumbles. "I'm not an invalid."

"No, but you _are_ burning a lot of energy. You need to keep your strength up."

"Okay, okay," says Bucky, sighing. "I do feel a lot less...frantic, now, I guess. I could eat." Right on cue, his stomach growls. 

Steve smirks, bending down to kiss Bucky's belly. "Good. Eat a protein bar, while I order food. You don't smell like you're about to go off again, so we need to take advantage of the lull in hormones."

"Is it because you, um, popped your knot in me?" Bucky asks, flushing a little as he squirms in Steve's arms. 

Steve hums, reluctantly untangling their bodies and helping Bucky sit up. "In my experience, that's how it works. Biological imperative fulfilled. It'll give us both time to recover and eat real food until you start to feel the, uh, urge, again."

"You gonna be able to keep up?" Bucky asks coyly, giving Steve a very cheeky smirk. 

Steve grabs his phone. "I won't even deign to reply. What are you in the mood for?"

"Everything," says Bucky, flopping back into the pillows. "Pizza. Hamburger and french fries. Chicken strips. Fish tacos."

"Alright, everything but the fish tacos is doable. I do not want those sitting out if you _go off_ before we can put them away." Steve winks at Bucky who grumbles and reaches for the stack of snacks. Steve watches for a moment as Bucky rips into one and then another in quick succession before Bucky catches him, cheeks puffed up like a chipmunk. "FHUUUH!" 

Cackling and sprinting away, Steve finds his phone and unlocks it. He sees a message from Bucky's sister right away.

 **Rebecca Barnes** : everything okay??  
**Steve** : Yes, we're eating something now. He improved quickly. I'll have him call you when it's over.  
**Rebecca Barnes** : Thank you!!

Steve sighs and opens up a delivery app, putting in several different orders from three different restaurants. A little excessive, sure, but he doesn't particularly feel like fighting the instinct that demands he provide for his Omega. He fills up another couple of spare water bottles (Stark & Rogers is always printing swag and so Steve's cabinets are filled with logo-covered water bottles and cups) and then returns to the bedroom to find Bucky trying to fruitlessly brush off all the crumbs spread out across the sheets. 

He looks up when Steve walks in and says in the most ridiculously forlorn voice, "I made a mess." His lips turn down in a perfect inverted U, like the saddest of emojis. 

Steve bites the inside of his cheek to quit from smiling. "Aww, that's okay. We needed to clean the sheets anyway. Go hop in the shower again if you want and drag some of the clean blankets from the hall closet onto the couch to wait for food. I'll clean up in here, okay?"

"Okay," says Bucky amiably, and the sight of him rolling naked out of bed, the gentle bounce of his ass as he walks to the bathroom, stops Steve in his tracks until the door closes between them. 

Dragging his jaw up from the floor, Steve strips the sheets, actually taking the time to walk to the laundry nook to start a load. When he returns to the bedroom, the bathroom is empty, and Steve can hear the living room TV is on, the sound filtering in through the open bedroom door. He puts fresh sheets on the bed, then pops into the shower himself for a quick rinse. 

Once he's out and dried off, he puts on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt in anticipation of answering the door, then joins Bucky where he's nested on the couch. 

He's still naked in the tumble of blankets, and Steve pulls him into his lap and plants a wet, smacking kiss on his cheek while Bucky shrieks and giggles. 

"I see my meal was delivered while I was cleaning up," Steve rumbles teasingly, mouthing at Bucky's jaw. He sucks a wet kiss just under Bucky's soft little chin, at the tender skin there. 

"Steve," Bucky gasps breathlessly, body shaking with laughter. "You're gonna give the delivery person an eyeful."

"Hmm," hums Steve. "I'll just wrap you up in this blanket like a burrito until they're gone. Then I'll eat my dinner."

Bucky's face flushes red and he gasps at the little nip Steve gives his bare shoulder. "God, I thought you said we should take advantage of this 'lull in hormones'. Why are _you_ so horny?"

"Mmm," says Steve, spreading more kisses and nips everywhere he can reach. Bucky laughs and pushes his face away, so Steve sighs, "Probably because the sweetest, sexiest little Omega I've ever met is looking and smelling so lush, right here on my couch."

Bucky snorts, letting out a fresh peal of honking giggles that are very unflattering but endearing nonetheless. "That was awful, Steve, just so corny."

Steve plays as if he's been wounded, clutching at his chest, and when Bucky rolls his eyes again, he switches to tickling him mercilessly. Bucky squawks like a startled seagull and they wrestle on the couch until the buzzer goes off and they break apart, both panting and flushed. "Be right baaaack," sing-songs Steve, giving Bucky a wink. 

"Ugh, hurry up! I want my food and then I want your dick," he declares, and Steve almost trips and brains himself on the bookcase as he heads for the door. Steve is _definitely_ into the lewd little sex fiend heat has released from within Bucky. 

They eat the veritable mountain of food Steve returns with, or at least put a sizable dent into it, and then Bucky ends up pulling Steve and a nest of blankets and pillows onto the floor and begging to be fucked right there.

When Steve is knotted up inside him again, this time comfortably spooned together, Bucky sighs contentedly, wriggles around until he can produce the TV remote from inside a pillowcase he must have stashed it in, and then reaches to drag a pizza box closer.

For a moment, what Bucky has just done doesn't filter into Steve's sex-addled brain. He's speechless. 

Bucky doesn't seem to notice, happily fishing out a slice of pizza and taking a big bite. Steve lets out a semi-hysterical laugh, completed staggered. Affection warms him as he wraps his arms around Bucky's waist and buries his face in his shoulder, wheezing out quiet laughs. 

"Are you having a breakdown?" Bucky asks through a full mouth. "Did you brain leak out of your dick?

"I'm just impressed. You've really made yourself comfortable, haven't you," says Steve, amused. "Got everything you need?"

"Mmhmm," hums Bucky, chewing audibly. "Sure do."

"You've got your pizza, you've got TV...."

"Y'r dick," mumbles Bucky. 

Steve chokes, losing it. 

"Listen," says Bucky, when he's swallowed. "You're the one that gets trapped inside me every time we do this. What else am I gonna do?"

"So much for pillow talk," mutters Steve. "Romance is dead."

Bucky swallows the large bite in his mouth, frowning over his shoulder at Steve. "What are we gonna talk about when you're so hopped up on Alpha hormones that you'd write your share of your company over to me if I asked nicely and complimented your knot? Actually, on second thought, we can totally talk about that. I’ve always wanted to be a gentleman of leisure."

Steve grins, blowing a raspberry on the back of Bucky's neck while he sputters indignantly. "Sure, let's call up Pepper and Tony right now, we can video conference them."

Bucky's cheeks are red and there's pizza sauce on the corner of his mouth, smeared up to his cheek. He elbows Steve in the stomach, though there's not much force to it. "That’s going too far!"

Steve hums, indescribably happy and content. He nuzzles Bucky's neck, enjoying the way he shivers and clenches up around Steve's knot, even if it does cause that reciprocal fission of _toomuchtoomuch_ to race along his raw nerves. "Yeah," he admits, because maybe Bucky's having a hard time, just like Steve, not blurting out certain things that are better left for when they're not heat-addled. "Carry on leisuring, then. Can I put in a request for The Mandalorian? I wanna see what all the fuss is about Baby Yoda."

"Steven," says Bucky, voice going tart. "I cannot watch _Baby Yoda_ while your _dick_ is _inside of me_."

Steve laughs until he cries. They watch The Witcher instead. 

Apparently, there are no such rules applicable to Henry Cavill or his wig. 

**—Bucky—**

All told, Bucky's first partnered heat is going pretty damn well. 

Bucky's body doesn't exactly dial it down in a meaningful way, but after the impromptu knotting on the floor, the fatigue starts to hit him. He wakes from his doze long enough to register that they're no longer tied together, Steve scooping him up into his arms, blankets and all, and then he opens his eyes again as Steve tucks him into bed and spoons him, but after that, he must fall asleep. 

It's very late when the heat makes itself known again, Bucky startling awake to find that he's grinding his hard dick into the mattress. He whines, pitifully overwhelmed by the fever rolling through him, sweat prickling at his skin. "Steve," he whispers, a sob in his throat. It doesn't feel as bad as it did when Steve wasn't here, when Bucky was so muddled and sick that he felt like he was _dying_ , but he's been asleep for hours and that whole time it's been building to an unbearable climax again. 

Steve comes awake all at once, his arms tightening around Bucky's waist as he snuffles sleepily at Bucky's ear. "Buck?" he murmurs. "Oh, honey, it's okay, I've got you."

"Please," cries Bucky, wriggling desperately, shoving his back into the cradle of Steve's hips. "Please, I need it—"

"Shhh," hushes Steve, nuzzling dopily at the nape of Bucky's neck. "Just...a little, I'll... Yeah, there we go." He drags one hand up Bucky's thigh, hitching his knee up, and then he just—

Slides in, easy as anything. 

Rocks once, twice, to roll in deep, tucking his cock into Bucky's wet hole. 

Bucky chokes out a relieved moan, some of his frantic need melting away. Steve was instinctively ready to go, probably just as hard as Bucky as they slept, and it's okay, now, hips moving lazily. 

"Just enough to give you a break," Steve murmurs. "Go back to sleep whenever you like...."

"Yeah," sighs Bucky, nodding his head, face rubbing against the pillow. "S'good, just keep—keep going."

It's dark in the room, and it doesn't matter if his eyes are open or closed, so he lets them slip shut and he drifts on the feeling of Steve wrapped all around him, moving in him. Steve's rumble is reassuring at his back, like white noise to drown out the frantic compulsion to fuck, to help him relax. Steve's cock is thick and hot, moving in him so easily, a lulling rhythm that Bucky could just float away on.

The pleasure crests so gently, inevitably, that it's like taking that final, perfect bite of chocolate cake, rich and decadent. He moans through it, the unexpected sound harsh in this space just for them, shrouded in the ragged hush of two bodies moving together. Steve murmurs, voice warm and sleepy, drowsy with the thick swell of his knot, deep inside. 

They shudder together, and Bucky feels like their hearts beat in sync, belonging to each other in a way Bucky never thought he would experience. He must have dreamed it, though, or maybe it's a dream now.

When he wakes again, the sweat has dried on his brow and he's hungry enough that he questions if he ever ate in the first place. He pushes out of bed on a one-man mission, stumbling as he drags one of the sheets with him, wrapped around his body. There's predawn light coming in through the windows as he pushes open the bedroom door, and he squints as he makes his way to the kitchen. 

Steve finds him there, standing over the sink with a tub of ice cream Bucky had to scrape the freezer burn off of first. Bucky narrows his eyes at Steve, angling his body between Steve and the carton of ice cream. "I want chocolate cake."

"Um," says Steve, scratching at his belly, the trail of hair leading down into the boxer shorts he must have pulled on before searching out Bucky. "Okay. Not sure I can get that for you at," he glances at the microwave and then back at Bucky, "6:30 in the morning, Buck, but I can check the bodega down the block."

"Yes, please," Bucky says, performatively licking the spoon.

Steve's face melts into a soft, indulgent smile, knuckling at one eye as he stands there and peers at Bucky, blue eyes sweeping down his body. "Well, okay then," murmurs Steve. "Guess I'll go get that for you."

"Guess you will," says Bucky, scraping at the bottom of the carton. 

"You'll be okay here on your own?"

"Think I can handle a brief absence." 

Steve huffs, nodding. "Put some clothes on, you'll catch a chill walking around like that."

"Get me cake, and I'll get some clothes," says Bucky. 

"I'll be back in ten minutes," says Steve, and he disappears from the kitchen, presumably to hunt out something to wear. 

Bucky finishes the ice cream, first, and then when he hears the door close behind Steve, he wanders back into Steve’s bedroom. Bucky does have clothes here, but he hasn't actually put anything on, yet. It's still in the backpack that was packed for him, since there was no real reason to dress himself in the midst of his heat craze. 

There's no motivation to get his own clothes on, so he meanders into Steve's big walk in closet. It smells like clean clothes in here, and the sharp scent of detergent, but on the back of the door, hanging on the hooks, Bucky finds some clothes that smell like _Steve_. Stuff that's been worn maybe once or twice already, including a big, chunky cream-colored cable knit sweater. 

Bucky pulls it down, shoving his face in it and breathing in Steve's scent. Pulling it on over his head, he realizes it's profoundly oversized on him; the sleeves fall to the tips of his fingers, while the hem lands at almost mid-thigh. 

Perfect. He's definitely dressed.

Bucky heads back out to the living room, finding more blankets tucked in the hall closet. Steve has so many good nesting supplies. He gathers up every possible piece of bedding he can carry and hauls it all out to the big oversized chair with the giant ottoman. He's putting the finishing touches on his elaborate nest when he hears the door. Clamoring into the middle of it, he wriggles down until he's comfortably ensconced. 

Steve walks in carrying a large brown paper bag, dressed in sweats, a large hoodie, and a scarf wrapped several times around his neck. His fingers and nose and the tips of his ears are all very pink. Bucky adjusts one of his twelve blankets and tucks his hands fully inside the sleeves of Steve's sweater. "Oh, is it really cold out?"

Steve pauses, blinking at him. "Well," he begins, closing the door behind him. "It's the end of December and the sun is just starting to peek through all the gray, so yes. It's a little cold."

"Hmmm, you should have worn gloves," he says sensibly. "Can I have my cake, please?"

Steve huffs a laugh, unwrapping his scarf and kicking off his shoes. He approaches Bucky's nest, holding out the paper bag like an offering. "You've been busy, huh?"

Bucky takes the bag and peers inside it excitedly, getting a whiff of rich cocoa. There's a clear plastic container inside, holding a thick slice of what looks like chocolate fudge layer cake. Bucky's mouth waters immediately and he discards the bag, popping open the plastic.

"I'll get you a fork," Steve says with a grin. 

"Don't bother," says Bucky, breaking off a chunk with his fingers and taking a bite. "Oh, _fuck_ that's good. That's exactly what I wanted," he says around a big mouthful, closing his eyes to savor it. He licks buttercream off his fingers, groaning lewdly. 

When he opens his eyes again, he finds Steve looking down at him with dark eyes, nostrils flaring as he takes big breaths. "Where'd you find that?" he asks roughly. 

"What?" Bucky says innocently, eating another bite of cake.

"You're wearing—" His voice breaks off, as if he just realized he sounds like he's auditioning for the role of Batman. "I mean, that's—it's my sweater."

"Oh, yeah, it is," agrees Bucky, sinking his finger into his mouth and sucking off a dollop of frosting. He pulls it free with a wet pop. "It was in your closet, hanging up. It looked comfy."

"You're wearing my sweater," croaks Steve.

"Uh huh." He grins, licking his lips. "You told me to put some clothes on."

"Yeah." Steve trips on the edge of the ottoman and sits down hard on it, just outside the circle of Bucky's blanket nest. "I did, didn't I?"

Oh man, Bucky doesn't know why people claim Alphas go all caveman in response to an Omega's heat. It's more like they go cave-idiot. It's really kind of sweet. "What's the matter? Do you not want me wearing your sweater…?" Bucky bats his lashes and deliberately crosses his bare thighs under the hem.

Steve groans, leaning forward to press his forehead to Bucky's knee. "Sugar, please, mercy, I'm—you look _so_ good, and you _smell_ so good. Lemme—" He lifts his head, eyes desperate. "—Can I take care of you? Don't you need me?"

Bucky squirms a bit, feeling how wet he already is. "M'not done with my cake yet, though."

Steve makes a forlorn noise, his forehead thumping back down against Bucky's bare knee. 

He's enjoying this game, though, this push-pull between them; the heady rush of power in knowing that the only thing motivating Steve right now is Bucky's desire. He's got an Omega in heat in his apartment, nesting in his linens, wearing his clothes, and it's clearly taken a toll. An Alpha at his beck and call is intoxicating. 

Bucky breaks off another big chunk of cake and pops it into his mouth, chewing speculatively while Steve's mussed blond head nuzzles at Bucky's knee. It's not like Bucky's going to be able to deny him much longer, though. He's slick again, and his rising erection is tenting up Steve's big sweater. Licking crumbs off his fingers, he carefully closes up the container and sets the remaining cake aside for later. 

Steve's head jerks up at the sound of the plastic, his pupils blown with arousal. He swallows, throat bobbing, and licks at his lips. "Buck?"

"I want you to do one more thing for me," says Bucky shakily. Under the soft wool, his skin is prickling with sweat. 

"What's that?" Steve whispers. 

"Stand up and take your clothes off for me so I can sit in your lap."

Steve's mouth works, but no words come out, just a wobbly nod of his head as his fingers tangle in the hem of his hoodie, pulling it straight up and over his head to toss it aside. His t-shirt goes next and then his sweats, shoved over his narrow hips with his boxers in tow. He steps on his own pants until he can pull them all the way off and then he looks back up at Bucky with big eyes, waiting for his next command. 

Bucky bites his bottom lip and then holds both of his hands up, making a _pick-me-up_ gesture that Steve immediately obliges. He pulls Bucky up and lifts him out of his nest, setting him down on his feet when Bucky taps his shoulder and says, "Down."

He feels slick trickle down his ass and over the back of his left thigh. "Sit down," he points, "in the nest."

Steve almost falls, scrambling to obey, but as soon as he's in position, Bucky hikes up the sweater and climbs right back into the nest, this time straddling Steve's thick thighs. Steve's mouth hangs open. "Buck—"

"Mmhmm," mutters Bucky, guiding Steve's hands up to his waist, under the thick knitting. Then Bucky places his own hand on Steve's shoulder for balance, lifting himself up while he reaches for Steve's cock and then guides it into place, both gasping as it catches on his wet hole. It takes a moment to get the angle just right. The first time he starts to sink down, it slides right out of place, pushing up between his slick cheeks as they both hiss in frustration.

"Bucky, honey, I can—" starts Steve.

Bucky shakes his head, cutting him off. "No, I want—I'm gonna do it."

He takes a deep breath, adjusting the tilt of his hips, pressing the head of Steve's thick cock right against his hole, pushing it in and rocking his hips _just so_ , and—

"Ohhhhh," he sighs in relief as he settles down. The stretch is so satisfying, the wet slide of their bodies filthy in the quiet apartment. "Steve, oh god, that's so fuckin' nice."

Steve makes a sound like he's been punched hard in the gut, his head falling back against the back of the chair under all the padding. His hands squeeze reflexively at Bucky's waist, thighs tense, and Bucky hums, circling his hips and finding a leisurely rhythm to work himself onto Steve's fat cock.

"There we go," murmurs Bucky, hands braced on Steve's broad shoulders. "Oh, you feel so good... Fuck, Steve. Cake and sex.... the perfect breakfast."

Steve lets out a strangled sound that might be a laugh, the vulnerable length of his throat bared to Bucky. The sight of it sends a bolt of shocked pleasure down Bucky's spine, his belly tight with arousal. Every time Bucky rocks his hips, tension rolls through Steve's body, stomach muscles rippling. 

"Fuck," breathes Bucky. Steve's so _big_ inside him, thick and hot, filling him up just right. He remembers what Steve said to him yesterday, when he used Steve's knot to get himself off, how Steve babbled at Bucky to take what he needed, and he indulges in that again now. He's got a big, strong Alpha to fuck, pinned passive and eager underneath him, holding him steady as he rocks and bounces and gasps in his broad lap. 

"Ah," gasps Steve, shuddering. His hands spread against Bucky's skin, sliding up to cradle Bucky's ribs. "Oh, Buck..."

"Yeah," breathes Bucky. "Yeah, yeah, yeah.... Oh!" He leans in, touching his forehead to Steve's. Steve lets him hold that position for a moment, then buries his face in Bucky's shoulder instead, snuffling at him through the sweater and _groaning_.

Steve's mouth unerringly finds the spot he's been worrying for Bucky's whole heat. Bucky sucks in a sharp breath, his hips jerking, taking Steve deep as Steve sucks and prods at the sensitive skin over his scent gland. He can feel himself getting slicker, the mess and the squelch as he bounces on Steve's cock harder, faster, needing it, needing all of it. Steve's knot starts to grow, to fatten, Steve's teeth scraping his tender skin, and with a sudden shout, Bucky grinds down and _comes_ , sobbing as Steve's knot blows inside of him, setting off a chain reaction of achy ecstasy as Bucky clings to Steve.

Pulse after hot pulse of Steve's come fills him, the wide knot stuffing him up, keeping it all where it belongs. It's like Bucky can _feel_ the rush of oxytocin his body is releasing in response, leaving him shaky and kitten-weak, drooping against Steve's body. He pushes his own face against Steve's throat now, huffing in breath after deep breath.

They sit there until Steve's knot goes down again, this time just clinging to each other, petting, kissing. There are no words exchanged because there's nothing either of them can say right now. It's just this, just them. 

At some point, they go back to Steve's bed and fuck there, then shower, then cake, then more fucking on every surface Bucky can cover with blankets. Steve's sweater is ruined for anything _except_ heats or ruts, but somehow Bucky doesn't think Steve minds. 

Somewhere near midnight on the 31st, Bucky's heat finally breaks, and he falls asleep in Steve's arms. 

It's late morning when he wakes again.

Bucky blinks slowly, cracking a big yawn as his brain comes back online. Steve's wrapped snug around him, breathing evenly into the back of Bucky's neck, and they're buried in a big mass of blankets that is steeped in their mingled scents. Winter sunlight streams into the window, warming them further.

It gives Bucky a bit of time to cautiously stretch his limbs, cataloging the state of his body post-heat. He's sore in the achy, well-used way that defines a good workout, and his mind is wonderfully quiet. The only word to describe how he feels is _sated_. There are a few twinges, here and there; his ass definitely stings a little, and his core muscles hurt, but overall, he feels incredible. His body temperature has dropped, he's not dripping slick anymore, and the frantic urge to hop on Steve's dick has significantly ebbed. 

It's a good, good morning. 

With a happy sigh, he reaches out to grab his phone off the bedside table. Most of the messages are variations on "Happy New Year!" and he resolves to answer them all when he isn't being aggressively spooned by a snoring Steve. 

If this is almost over, he wants to luxuriate in Steve's devoted attention as long as he can.

Behind him, Steve sleepily draws in a big breath and then exhales gustily, shifting against Bucky. "Mornin'," he rumbles, fingers tickling at Bucky's lower belly. "Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year," Bucky says softly. "I'm _starving_."

"Then we should get you breakfast," says Steve, though he doesn't make a move to get up yet. "Waffles?"

Bucky groans. " _Yes_!"

Steve peppers kisses across the back of Bucky’s shoulder, fingers scratching softly over Bucky’s belly and hip before finally rolling away. Steve flips on his back and groans, stretching his arms above his head. Bucky wiggles next to him, turning onto his stomach to do the same. 

Steve manages to get out of bed first and reaches to help Bucky do the same. “Shower first?”

Bucky really wants waffles but he can feel dry come in uncomfortable places. He grimaces. “Yeah.”

They get cleaned up together, Steve seeming invested in continuing to coddle and care for Bucky. They kiss briefly in the shower but it’s all affection with none of the driving urgency of Bucky’s heat. After, Steve bundles him up in a bathrobe that smells like him, and Bucky watches as Steve pulls on a t-shirt and sweats before parking Bucky on the couch. “Waffles coming up.”

It's a good opportunity to call Becca. It's the first lucid morning Bucky's had since his heat really set in, and he's sure she's been quietly losing her mind at the radio silence. 

He can hear Steve rattling around in the kitchen, the clatter of bowls and cutlery, and his off-key but cheerful whistling is extremely endearing. Swiping his phone unlocked, he calls his sister. She picks up _immediately_.

"Jamie? Or Steve?"

"It's me, Becks," says Bucky, cozying down into the couch. 

"Oh, good," breathes Becca, and she sounds so _relieved_. "How are you feeling? Are your symptoms gone?"

"I feel good," says Bucky, because saying he feels _great_ is probably way too much information. "Fever broke, symptoms are all gone. Steve took really good care of me. I'm sorry I scared you so much."

"It's not your fault," says Becca. She exhales heavily. "You should reply to messages, when you can. Let people know you're feeling better. There have been a lot of best wishes for the new year."

"I know, I'll do it today, I promise," says Bucky. 

"When..." Becca pauses, audibly reconsidering what she's about to say. "Do you think you're going to come back here this weekend?"

She's not asking him to come back right _now_. But he did miss several days of holidays with his family. "Yeah," he says easily. "Of course."

"I'll let you go," says Becca. "Thanks for calling, Jamie. Love you."

"Love you, too," says Bucky. When he hangs up, he looks up to find Steve leaning in the doorway of the living room, watching him and smiling. The vanilla'd scent of cooking waffles has filtered in from the kitchen. "What?" he asks. "What are you looking at?"

"Move in with me," blurts Steve, looking startled himself at the words suddenly coming out of his mouth. "I mean, I would like that. You don't have to, obviously. I mean—"

"I know what you mean," laughs Bucky. It's odd, he guesses, but he doesn't feel weird about it at all. There's no panic, nothing overwhelming him. It just feels good, he feels so good with Steve. There were so many moments through his heat that he bit back words, held them behind his teeth, barely hanging onto them. 

He didn't want to say them while he was lost in the haze of hormones, drowning in blazing, uncontrollable desire and pleasure. He shivers, but none of the fog rolls in, none of the inconsolable need. It's just pleasant warmth filling his chest and his stomach, keeping him safe and anchored. 

Steve runs a hand through his hair nervously, out of character as a blush stains his fair cheeks. "I just...I want you here, Buck. I want you around, just like this. I want this to be our place, our nest. I want the chance to wake up every morning and try my best to make you happy."

Telltale tears burns at Bucky's eyes and he huffs, giving Steve a mock scowl. "Dammit, Steve, I was holding it together until you did that." He wipes at his face. "Of course I want to move in with you, but we only just started dating!"

Steve smiles, then, lifting an eyebrow. "But Buck, we started dating last year."

"What?" He blinks, eyebrows screwing together. "It's only been—"

"Happy New Year, sugar." Steve pushes away from the doorway, coming over to his spot on the couch and pulling Bucky up to his knees. His hands are warm on the sides of Bucky's neck, thumbs brushing away the last of Bucky's tears. Steve's lips are soft and he tastes like maple syrup as he leans in for a kiss. 

Bucky sighs, willingly giving in to it, to the feelings welling up inside of him. When they part he can't help but grin so wide his cheeks ache. He feels giddy with possibility. "My sister's gonna _flip_."

Steve laughs again, kissing his cheek and his chin before landing on his lips one more time. "Nah, she likes me now, I think. She didn't even threaten me when I came to get you."

"I can't believe that's how you two met," Bucky huffs, pouting outrageously. "I was so out of it I can't even remember you picking me up. I wanted that to be different."

Steve soothes him with another kiss. "It's one way to break the ice, though. It's only uphill from here on out, right?"

"I guess," Bucky sighs. In response, Steve squishes his cheeks together with both hands, Bucky allowing it until they both give into laughter. "Steve!"

"I'm sorry," says Steve, not sounding sorry at all. "You look cute when you pout." He releases Bucky. "I can have your family over for brunch. What do you think?"

"Sisters first," says Bucky, because the idea of Steve meeting his parents _and_ his sisters at the same time is too much for his tiny heart to bear. "You can catch my parents the next time they're in the city."

"Whatever you want," says Steve easily. 

"And depending on how well _that_ goes," says Bucky, "then maybe by the time they're getting ready to go, I can tell them that...I'm planning on moving in with you." 

Bucky's face is burning, suddenly, but not from embarrassment, exactly. It's anticipation, maybe. His heart is pounding, even though _Steve_ is the one that just asked him to move in. 

It's a big deal, though. Deciding he _wants_ to, as much as Steve does. And the smile that breaks over Steve's sunny face is beautiful. He surges forward for a firm kiss, clutching Bucky to him, and when they part breathlessly, Steve immediately shoves his face into Bucky's throat to scent him. 

As the scent of something not so sweet hits Bucky's nose, though, he plants both hands on Steve's shoulders and shoves him away. "Steve, _the waffles_!"

Steve's startled look would be _hilarious_ if it wasn't for Bucky's precious waffles burning. Well, it's still pretty hilarious as Steve sprints back to the kitchen and curses up a storm, clanging and banging sounds filling the apartment as he no doubt discards a blackened waffle. "It's okay!" shouts Steve. "I have more batter!"

Bucky sighs, sinking back down into the couch as he reaches for his phone again, sending a text to the WhatsApp group for him and his sisters. 

**Bucky** : if steve and I invite you for brunch on sunday, will you promise to be on your very best behavior?  
**Ronnie** : absolutely NOT  
**Ronnie** : but I'll see you on sunday anyway!!!!  
**Amanda** : oh jamie baby!! We're so glad you're feeling better. and Of COURSE we'll be on our best behavior. 😇😇😇  
**Ronnie** : speak for yourself! 😈😈😈  
**Becca** : Just the three of us? Sharon and I could get a babysitter and she could come too  
**Bucky** : Would love to have Sharon too!  
**Bucky** : PLEASE be nice, Ronnie!!!  
**Bucky** : also happy new year, sorry I got sick in the middle of the holidays :(  
**Ronnie** : yeah you SHOULD be sorry!!!! how DARE you succumb to an extremely uncontrollable biological response! ;)  
**Bucky** : :P  
**Amanda** : happy new year, little bro  
**Becca** : We're all just glad you're feeling better, Jamie  
**Bucky** : Steve is making me waffles  
**Ronnie** : good. that's his job.  
**Bucky** : I'm gonna go eat them. Sunday at 10:30, at Steve's place, I'll text the address. Bye, love you!!

When he looks up from his phone, Steve is strolling back into the living room holding two steaming plates. 

"Success," he announces, beaming. He sweeps right to Bucky, bending over to kiss his cheek sweetly and hand him a plate piled high with waffles and fruit, soaked in maple syrup and powdered sugar. 

Bucky's briefly overcome with a wave of affection so strong that if he were standing, his knees would go weak. He knows what he's feeling, overwhelmed by it, really, but one revelation is probably enough for this moment. He's not quite ready to say the words out loud. As Steve sits next to him, expression peaceful and happy, Bucky's sure they're both thinking it. 

They're on the same page. That's all he needs right now. 

"Brunch on Sunday," he says instead, picking up his fork. "10:30, my sisters and my sister-in-law. You should make these."

"Sounds great," Steve says cheerfully, spearing a strawberry. 

Bucky concentrates on his own plate, heart full. The bite he takes is delicious and reminds him of their first date, when they went to the bakery and got a sampling of all the desserts. Warm, and sweet, and lightly vanilla'd, just like Steve. 

He can't wait to move in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! 🎉🍾

**Author's Note:**

> Title and subtitles are (obviously) from Whitney Houston's _I Wanna Dance With Somebody (Who Loves Me)_.
> 
> Thanks for reading. 💗💗💗


End file.
